Bloodthirsty
by 1note
Summary: AU John Winchester is alive and well and still hunting. Then he meets Nell, a vampire that doesn't quite fit the mold, and he finds his carefully built walls slowly crumbling. John/OC. Rated for language, gore, and future adult situations.
1. Estrie

**A/N:** I am a recent fan of _Supernatural_ (yet another show I discovered through the magic of Netflix) and was totally bummed when Jeffrey Dean Morgan's character of John died at the beginning of Season 2. He's my favorite character in the show, mostly because I've been a fan of JDM since I saw him in _Watchmen_. Not to say Dean and Sam aren't totally appealing; I'm still watching the show, aren't I? But there's just something about John I found especially riveting.

I was less than thrilled to discover a sizable number of the John-centric fics I found were incest stories (or Wincest, if you want to get cute about it). That kind of subject matter I'm just not into. Doesn't matter what kind of silly label you put on it, it's still perverted and totally gross. Besides, if you've read any of my other stories, you know I'm into pairing up characters with OC's anyway. In this case, I decided to write something AU where John, Sam, and Dean succeeded in offing ol' Yellow Eyes and then went their separate ways. Hey, it's my story. I can write whatever the heck I want! So here goes, my very first _Supernatural_ fanfic. Should any readers choose to review, keep in mind that this is for entertainment only (mostly my own). :-)

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>LOOMIS, KENTUCKY<p>

THREE WEEKS AGO

_Rain, rain, go away..._ The old nursery rhyme ran in a seemingly endless loop in Nick's head, matching the rhythm of the windshield wipers squeaking back and forth. Nick hated the rain; it always made his nose run. He kept a box of Kleenex on the dashboard and the damn thing was almost empty, spent tissues littering the floor like disgusting confetti. But more than the overflowing sinuses, Nick especially hated driving through the rain at night. The reflective wetness made everything look even more surreal in the headlights than usual, plus he had to drive way slower to avoid skidding on his car's bald tires. At least there wasn't any oncoming traffic to dazzle his straining eyes. That's one advantage of living out in the middle of no-fucking-where.

Nick inherited the shack his grandpa laughingly called a house a couple of years ago when the old fart finally kicked it. He only moved into it because he had nowhere else to go. His wife, who he married right out of high school, had kicked him out _again_, this time saying she was filing for divorce. Nick didn't take the threat seriously at first—she never followed through on her threats before—but shortly afterward he got a call from some chick claiming to be his soon-to-be ex's lawyer. It wasn't long before the divorce was finalized. It was the one time Nick was glad to be broke, because it meant he had absolutely nothing the bitch could possibly want from him. Not even the two lousy acres good ol' gramps left him.

Nick once again fiddled with the fussy radio in hopes it might miraculously start to cooperate. No such luck; all that came out of the speakers was some hissing static and the occasional incomprehensible noise that sounded vaguely obscene. Nick switched the radio off with a curse and tapped the steering wheel impatiently. _Rain, rain, go away..._

A vast emptiness to the right was all he could see of the lake. Thank god! He was just ten minutes away from home. Even the rain was slowing down to a light patter. Things were looking up.

A pale flicker of movement at the corner of his eye drew Nick's attention to the side of the road. What he saw made his eyes widen in surprise and he immediately lifted his foot off the gas and pressed the brake. Once the old car wheezed to a halt with a minimum of slippage he put it in park and got out. The rain was light enough that it only dampened his hair a little, not that he noticed. Not when his headlights were illuminating the pale figure of a beautiful young woman leaning against a gnarled old tree. Her long blonde hair hung in wet tendrils down her back and she wore a simple white dress that clung to her shapely curves. She smiled as Nick approached her.

"You okay?" he asked, slogging through the waterlogged grass towards her and grimacing the whole time, "Er, did your car break down or somethin'?" He looked around, but there was no sign of any vehicle besides his own.

The girl's smile widened. "Or something," her voice chimed musically. Her skin was so pale Nick could see the web of light blue veins underneath, and her eyes were the most intense shade of green he'd ever seen.

"W-well, uh," he stammered nervously, "d'you wanna ride?"

The girl held out an elegant hand and Nick took it without hesitation, but instead of heading for his car, she started leading him further into the dark.

"What're you-"

_"Come with me,"_ the girl sang, _"Come with me. Such sights I can show you. Come and see."_

Her voice was achingly beautiful, promising delights beyond his wildest imagining. Nick could have resisted, but why would he want to when this gorgeous young thing obviously wanted him? To hell with the mud and the chilly air! Nick followed the nameless woman away from the reassuring light of the car's headlamps and out into the waiting blackness of the lake.

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><p>PRESENT DAY<p>

John Winchester barely acknowledged the waitress who deposited another beer in front of him and cleared away the empties with brisk efficiency. He picked up the sweating bottle and took a hefty swig, then went back to staring at the dried condensation rings on the table's surface. To all appearances he was nothing more than another nameless, slightly shabby drifter whose life was in a slump. There were plenty of others who matched that same description throughout the dimly lit bar that was charmingly named Dally's Alley. Despite the establishment's seedy appearance, it was actually thriving, mainly due to its prime location beside a very busy highway. Most of the traffic on said highway consisted of huge tractor-trailers roaring to and from different delivery points, which meant most of the bar's patrons were truckers. It made Dally's Alley an ideal place to get lost in; everyone was just passing through. Nobody knew each other and nobody cared to.

Aside from the waitresses, there were a surprising number of women in the bar. Most of them were female truckers either teamed up with their husbands/boyfriends or going solo. But there were a few who appeared to be regular ladies making a pit stop on their way to somewhere more important. There was a pretty brunette in short-shorts beside the jukebox, showing off her assets as she swayed to the music blaring from the speakers; a black-haired girl who barely left her teens behind crammed in a booth with a slightly older man, both engaged in a heavy make-out session; and a solitary thirty-something seated at one of the little circular tables, long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

The blonde was surveying the other patrons with an air of speculation, only taking occasional sips of her beer to keep up appearances. John watched her from the corner of his eye. A few minutes later a brown-haired man in a battered leather coat approached the woman almost shyly. She smiled warmly at the new arrival and nodded when the man apparently asked to take the empty seat across from her. The loud country music drowned out their conversation from any prying ears, but it was obvious the guy thought things were going well. Then the blonde leaned towards him and said something that made him smile in puzzlement. He laughed, thinking whatever she said was a joke, but the woman nodded firmly. The man's body language challenged her for some kind of proof. She slipped something out of her pocket and showed it to him. John glimpsed a folded bill, but couldn't tell what denomination it was. Apparently it was quite a bit, judging from the way the guy's eyebrows shot up. The man nodded eagerly. He and the blonde settled their tabs, then hurried out the door together.

John took the time to finish off his last beer, fished out enough cash to cover his tab plus an adequate tip, then got up and sauntered to the exit, hands in his pockets as if he had no reason at all to hurry. Outside the night air was pleasantly cool. A light rain that fell moments ago turned every surface into a dull mirror, reflecting the lights from the passing traffic and the blinking neon sign over the bar's entryway. John casually looked around and saw the blonde and the guy in the leather coat disappear into the back of a beat-up old van. The woman shut the rear doors, cutting her and the man off from the rest of the world. John strode towards the vehicle, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long overcoat. As he neared the van he withdrew his hands; in the left was a small vial. His right hand pushed his coat aside to reveal a bowie knife strapped to his hip. He pulled it out of its sheath, popped the cap off the vial and poured its contents over the blade. The thick liquid looked black in the poor nighttime lighting.

He could hear the couple's voices, which meant there was still time to prevent another death. He grabbed the handle and flung the van's rear door open, startling its two occupants. John didn't pause; he snagged the man by the collar of his coat and flung him out of the vehicle. The man landed in a heap on the pavement and gaped in shock, then scrambled to his feet and ran, leaving the blonde to deal with the knife-wielding maniac. Chivalry was indeed a thing of the past.

The blonde woman was caught totally off-guard, which was why she didn't dodge fast enough to completely avoid John's slashing blade. Its razor sharp edge sliced through her jeans and left a shallow cut on her thigh. The wound instantly became inflamed and the woman hissed in agony. Her second set of teeth popped out of her gums, rows of deadly fangs that transformed her from pretty blonde victim to predatory monster.

A horrible nausea twisted her stomach. Panic rose in her. _Dead man's blood. He coated the blade in dead man's blood!_ If the cut had been any deeper she would have been incapacitated. As it was, it took a force of will for her to lash out with her other leg and kick her attacker away. She quickly pulled the doors shut before he had a chance to come at her again and locked them, then clambered into the front of the van, fumbling in her pockets. Keys. Where were the damn keys?

A tap and the driver's side window drew her attention. There stood John with a smug grin on his face, he van's keys dangling from his left hand. At some point in the brief struggle they must have fallen out of her pocket.

"Son of a bitch!" She jumped out the passenger side and made a run for it. She heard the heavy thuds of John's boots as he gave chase. Normally the female vampire could have easily outrun him, but the poisonous blood infecting her injured leg slowed her down. John could very well catch up to her in this state. Thinking fast, she swerved towards the ever-busy highway and ran across the four lanes, dodging speeding vehicles, ignoring the screeching brakes, honking horns, and shouts of abuse she left in her wake.

John put everything he had into chasing her. He didn't waste his breath in uttered curses, though he was sorely tempted. He shouldn't have let her slip away. Ten years ago—hell, _five_ years ago—he wouldn't have. But no matter how hard he tried to keep himself in shape, age continued to slow his reflexes. And in his line of work, that could be potentially fatal.

Case in point: a loud shriek of tires on wet pavement was his only warning before a sedan struck a glancing blow off his right side and he fell hard against the pavement. His quarry spared a brief glance over her shoulder to see him struggling back to his feet. He had to concentrate to get his legs to cooperate, but he wasn't about to stop now.

There was a set of train tracks running parallel to the highway. A cargo train that had to be a mile long was coming, its single headlamp giving it the look of a cyclopsian caterpillar. If the blonde beat John across the tracks the train would cut him off, giving her plenty of time to escape. The woman put on a burst of speed and ran straight ahead, ignoring the approaching train and the possible threat of winding up under its crushing wheels. She leaped over both rails in a single jump, tucked and rolled, then sat up to see if she'd succeeded in losing her pursuer.

John struggled to keep after her, ignoring the pain in his side from that run-in with the car. He watched as she crossed the tracks just seconds ahead of the oncoming train. He didn't even slow down; if he hesitated even a second, he'd lose her. He was just clearing the first rail when his knee chose that moment to buckle. John gasped as he sprawled across the tracks, the light from the train's headlamp blinding him. There was no way he'd get across in time to avoid it. He barely even had time to think, _What a stupid way to die._

A pair of inhumanly strong hands suddenly grabbed his outstretched arm and yanked him off the tracks just as the train barreled over the spot he was lying on an instant before. John landed on the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him, the bowie knife tumbling from his slack grip. He lay still for a couple of stunned seconds, listening to the regular _ca-chunk, ca-chunk_ of the passing train. A pair of sneakers came into his view and a slender hand reached down to pick up the knife. John turned his head to look up at the female vampire. Her green eyes gleamed like an animal's in the dim moonlight, her lips peeled back from her deadly sharp teeth.

"Fucking asshole," she snarled, the fangs giving her a menacing lisp, "You wrecked my plans for dinner _and_ you ruined my favorite pair of jeans! Goddamn it." She paced back and forth, flexing her injured leg. After a while she paused and took a couple of deep breaths. Her fangs slowly withdrew into their hidden sheaths.

It took a moment before John's muddled thoughts could form a coherent sentence. "You saved me from the train."

"Yeah!" the blonde snapped, nodding her head in sharp, angry jerks, "I saved you from the train. Y'know why?" She tapped her chest with the flat of the blade. "Because _I'm not a monster!_"

She glared at the train, car after laden car passing by with no end in sight. It'd be several long minutes before she could get back to her van. She sat down on the ground a safe distance from the hunter, still holding on to the bowie knife and stewing over the lousy turn this night had taken. She watched from the corner of her eye as John struggled up to a sitting position, grimacing as he flexed his knee. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah, it hurts!" he said, irritated, "I got sideswiped by a damn car."

"Try getting cut by a poison-dipped knife," she retorted. She shifted to a less uncomfortable position. "How'd you find out about me, anyway?" She wasn't sure he'd answer, but the guy surprised her.

"Some men have gone missing in the area over the last couple of months. I came here, did some research. There was a rumor about a vampire picking up random guys in the local bars."

"So you figured I was the one behind the disappearances," she concluded with a derisive snort. "Newsflash, jerk. Living off of blood isn't the same as being bloodthirsty. I don't kill people. Yeah, I feed off those guys I pick up, but I _pay_ them for it. I don't even bite them! I use needles and tubing and put the blood in neat little baggies, just like at the Red Cross. If you'd waited a few more seconds, you would've seen it."

John glared. "If I'd waited a few more seconds, that guy you had with you could've wound up another missing person. How do I even know you're telling me the truth?"

"Hey, you'd be hamburger right now if I hadn't saved your sorry ass," she shot back, "Why would I do that when letting you die clearly would've been in my best interest?"

John couldn't think of an answer to that. Everything about this situation was wrong. He knew something was responsible for the rash of disappearances in this area. It only stood to reason that if there was a vampire in the area, she had to be the cause. But in that one instant where his life literally hung in the balance, the logic of vampiric behavior he'd always believed in was abruptly blown completely out of the water. It just didn't make sense! It _had_ to be her, yet everything in his gut now told him it wasn't. He found himself grasping at straws. "If it's not you, then it's gotta be one of the vampires in your nest-"

"I don't belong to a nest," she said, "It's easier that way. More vampires means more blood is needed. Since I'm on my own, I can just take small amounts from people without having to kidnap them and drain them dry over time."

"Then why drink human blood at all?" John asked, remembering when his sons told him about a group of vampires they ran into who lived off of cattle blood. He'd thought Sam and Dean were just being naïve at the time, but now he had to wonder if it wasn't true after all.

The blonde woman scoffed, "I'll start drinking animal blood when you start eating bugs instead of burgers."

The last train car finally trundled past. The woman stood, grimacing at the discomfort in her leg, and looked at John. "I don't know what's causing those disappearances," she said, "but it's sure as hell isn't me. You need to find yourself a different monster to blame." She stepped closer to him and held the knife out handle first. John eyed her warily, took the knife, wiped the tainted blood off on the grass, and put it back in its sheath. He then fished the van's keys from his coat pocket and tossed them to her.

"What's your name?" he found himself asking.

The woman quirked an eyebrow. "Why d'you wanna know? You looking to lay a hex on me or something?"

John frowned. "Forget it." He struggled to his feet with a painful grunt. He'd be lucky to get out of bed in the morning.

The blonde stared at him thoughtfully. "My name's Janelle Estrie. Nell for short."

John smirked. "Estrie. That's a type of female vampire in ancient Hebrew mythology."

"I know," Nell grinned, "One of those jokes that only a handful of people will ever get. So I told you my name. Only fair you tell me yours."

He hesitated for a second before answering, "John Winchester."

Nell snorted, "There's a cowboy name if I ever heard it." She started to leave, tossed a parting shot over her shoulder "Good luck with your hunt, John Winchester." And with that, she casually vanished into the night, leaving a bemused John standing alone in the dark.


	2. Run In With the Lake Girl

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>By the time John returned to the bar's parking lot, the van was already gone. Nell was probably miles away by now, headed for the next out-of-the-way town to hide herself in. John climbed into his pickup and drove to the rundown motel where he'd rented a room. Moments later he lay in the narrow bathtub, letting the steaming water ease some of his aches and pains. With his eyes closed, he looked for all the world like he was dozing, but in reality he was running through the information on the disappearances he'd gathered, wondering if he missed something before.<p>

All of the victims were men. All of them vanished at night, their abandoned vehicles left at the side of whatever back road they'd taken with the keys still in the ignitions and sometimes even he engines still running. There were no signs of any struggles; it was as if the men just pulled over, got out of their cars, and wandered off. Or were lured off.

Some vampire legends included the ability to hypnotize their prey, but John knew that was just one of the many supposed facts that turned out to be a load of bullshit. Still, that didn't discount good old fashioned seduction. She could have stood along the highway pretending to hitchhike and when some unlucky bastard picked her up, convinced him to take a little drive away from the main highway so they could have some private time together.

But why have them get out of the vehicles? And why leave the vehicles behind to be discovered later? And where the hell were the bodies? These questions bothered him, but the one that nagged at John the most was: why would Nell go through all that trouble when she already had a method of obtaining blood that worked just fine? Vampires were like humans in that they were consistent. They didn't switch MO's for no reason.

John sighed in frustration, opened his eyes. He raised a hand out of the tub and stared at the wrinkled skin of his fingertips. He'd soaked long enough. With a loud old-man groan, he reached over to pull the plug, then raised himself out of the tub and grabbed one of the thin motel towels to dry off with. He could tell his right side from hip to knee was going to be one giant bruise in the morning. But at least he didn't break any bones. Or get crushed under a train.

And that was the most damning fact against his theory that Nell was the one behind the disappearances. She'd saved his life. Even after he tried to kill her. All the vampires he had encountered before would have just stood and watched him get shredded. Hell, they would have laughed! They were nothing more than vicious self-serving predators whose only loyalty was to their hives. And yet Nell saved him.

Damn it, he was even starting to think of her by her name instead of just "vampire."

John wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out into the motel room. He rummaged through his duffel bag, threw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, then dug out the road map he picked up at a nearby gas station. He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. He'd already marked the spots where the missing men's cars were found. Their locations were fairly spread out, but they were all on roads that branched out from the main highway, which was why he figured whatever he was hunting would be found on the highway. But what if he got it wrong? What if the highway wasn't the source? John scrutinized the map, the little X's he drew on it with red ink. There was one thing they all had in common, aside from their proximity to the highway; the lake. All of the abandoned vehicles were found within walking distance of the lake. John knew this, but when he heard about a vampire in the area, he didn't give this any thought. Now he did.

Maybe there was something in the lake that was luring these men away. The restless spirit of someone who drowned? Perhaps some kind of water sprite? Whatever it was, it only seemed active at night. John checked the room's alarm clock; only a couple of hours till sunrise. He wasn't in any shape to do much now, anyway. He decided to spend the day recuperating, then go check out the lake after nightfall.

He refolded the map and put it away, got into bed, pulled up the covers, and turned out the bedside lamp.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he opened his eyes again. It was still dark out; light from the motel's sign shone weakly through the gap in the curtains. John was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Staring at Mary, her golden hair fanned up over her head, her skin deathly pale, blood seeping into her nightgown from the wound on her stomach. Her mouth opened and a desolate whisper emerged, _"John..."_

He gasped and sat up with a jolt, hissing when the sudden movement caused a flare of pain in his side. He looked at the covered window and saw the curtains backlit with morning sunlight. He craned his neck at the ceiling; nothing but cobwebs and a thin crack wending across like a river's path. John lay back down and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. His shoulders trembled, but there was no sound to his grief.

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><p>The day took forever to end. John grabbed a bite to eat at the motel's greasy diner as evening set in. When he was done that last few rays of daylight were fading. He got into his truck and drove onto the highway. A few miles later he took a random turnoff onto a narrow two-lane road. According to the map, it followed along the lake's coastline for several miles; three of the disappearances were on this very road. Odds were whatever was taking these people was more likely to be encountered here.<p>

The lake was an ink-black plain off to his right. Not even the stars reflected off its surface; the sky was overcast with the threat of rain. It would have been easy to believe it was a vast hole in the crust of the earth instead of a body of water.

A light drizzle began to patter against the truck's windshield. John turned on the wipers. No sooner did they clear his view than a pale form slid past the corner of his eye, so brief he almost missed it. John quickly stepped down on the brake and the truck skidded to a halt. He reached out to the seat beside him and picked up his weapons; a sawed-off shotgun full of rock salt and a handgun loaded with silver bullets that had been blessed by a priest. Hopefully, one of these would at least slow the thing down, whatever it was. He stepped out of the truck, walked cautiously around to the passenger side, keeping his back to the headlights so they wouldn't screw up his night vision. He stared out into the dark, looking for some sign of what he glimpsed moments ago. He wondered if he should call out like any ordinary guy would, _Hello? Anybody out there?_

As if responding to his unvoiced questions, there was a rustling movement just outside the range of the headlights. John took a couple of tentative steps away from the truck, weapons held at his sides. His movements were still a little stiff from his mishap the previous night.

"Who's out there?" He didn't call out, but kept his voice at a normal pitch.

The figure of a beautiful young woman stepped out of the darkness. Dressed in a white gown, long blonde hair wet from more than just the drizzle falling down, her eyes a shade of green so brilliant they seemed to glow. She smiled sweetly. "Hello."

She didn't seem at all fazed by the weapons he was carrying. That alone was enough to make John wary of her.

"You lost?"

The young woman's smile widened. "You found me."

John eyed her clinically. He didn't see the telltale flicker of a spirit willing its image into existence. She looked solid. Probably not a ghost, then. Some kind of creature.

The girl held her hand out to him. "Would you like to see my home?"

Her innocent look didn't fool him. Often the deadliest things he ever tangled with hid their true natures behind sweet faces. John raised the handgun and pointed it at her. "Hows about you come with me instead?"

She tilted her head in curiosity. A sound emerged from her lips, soft and lilting, _"Come with me..."_

John felt the tug of enchanted longing and didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger. The girl shrieked, in pain or rage or both, and vanished into the night like a shadow. John ran in the same direction he thought she went, weapons at the ready. A minute later his foot came down with a squelch, cold water flooded his work boot. John yanked his foot back with a grimace. He'd reached the edge of the lake. No sign of his quarry. The drizzle turned into a heavy shower, making visibility even tougher. John squinted at the surrounding dark, slowly turning as he searched. The instant his back was turned to the lake, the young woman leaped out of the water and wrapped her thin arms around his neck. John was yanked back suddenly enough that the guns fell from his hands. He hit the water with a violent splash, going under before he had a chance to take more than a shallow breath.

The lake was cold. It flooded his ears, his sinuses. He thrashed and pulled at the slender arms, but couldn't break free of their inhumanly strong grip. His lungs screamed for air. He couldn't see, couldn't hear anything except that achingly beautiful voice.

_"Come with me. Be with me..."_

It would be so easy to give in. To rest in her embrace and let the song carry him away. No more fighting, no more killing, no more dreams to haunt him. John's desperate movements gradually slowed as his will began to crumble.

Something impacted on the lake's surface, felt more than heard. Then the arms abruptly loosened and John was free. His survival instinct kicked in once again and he swam upward. His head breached the surface with a loud gasp as he filled his oxygen-starved lungs with air. He heard the sounds of struggling behind him, loud splashes and horrific screeches, but didn't turn to see what was going on. Instead he paddled to the shore as fast as he could where he saw the handgun gleaming dully where he'd dropped it. He snatched it up and spun, aiming it at...nothing. The lake was still. No sign of whatever battle was raging only seconds before. John waited a few tense heartbeats before he started to lower the gun.

A pale figure erupted from the lake, spraying water in a fountain around her. Her long blonde hair hung in limp tendrils, partially obscuring her face. John quickly raised the gun again and fired.

"_Aah!_ You motherf-" Nell doubled over, clutching her chest.

John gaped. "What the hell are you doing here!"

"Saving your ass!" she shouted, _"Again!"_ She straightened and pulled her hands away from her chest, face twisted in a painful grimace. Thanks to her vampire healing, there was very little bloodloss. Nell prodded the small wound with a grimace. "Terrific."

John stormed over and pressed the hot barrel of the gun against her forehead. "What," he snarled, "are you doing here?"

Nell shoved the gun out of her face. "Simmer down, cowboy. Is that any way to thank someone who rescued you from drowning?"

"I didn't ask to be rescued!"

"And I didn't ask for a bullet in my chest, so that makes us even." She gathered up her wet hair and wrung out some of the excess moisture. "And to answer your question, after our little run-in last night my curiosity was piqued. I'll admit my life's been in kind of a rut for the last ten years or so, so I figured I might tag along. I wondered if life as a monster hunter was as exciting as it sounded." She smirked. "Apparently it is."

John stared at the female vampire, incredulous. "You followed me?"

"Not exactly," she gestured towards his pickup, "I hitched a ride in the undercarriage of your truck."

"You-" he couldn't even think of a response. For the second time in as many nights he felt like he'd been put through the wringer. He was in no shape to deal with this bizarre woman, living or undead. John turned and headed for the truck, pausing to pick up the shotgun he'd dropped earlier.

Nell trotted after him. "Are we leaving? What about that mermaid chick? You just gonna let her get away?"

"Mermaids are ocean-dwelling, not freshwater," John retorted, "Whatever that thing is, it's not gonna show up again tonight. It'll lay low till it thinks we're long gone."

"What's to keep her from going somewhere else?"

John didn't bother to respond. He got into the truck and slammed the door shut. Nell hurried over to the passenger side only to find it locked. She tapped the window. John didn't even glance at her. He started the engine.

"Oh, c'mon, man!" her voice was muffled by the glass, "I saved your life and got shot for my trouble. Least you can do is gimme a ride back to town."

John gritted his teeth as his hands tightened on the wheel. He was tempted to just drive off and let her find her own damn way back, but as much as he hated to admit it, she did save his life. Again. He reached over and unlocked the passenger door. Nell clambered in, water dripping from the ends of her hair and soaking into the upholstery. She fastened her seat belt—an odd choice, considering she couldn't possibly die from a collision—then glanced over at John, one eyebrow cocked. "Dude! Buckle up for safety."

John threw her a hard glare, then put the truck into gear and drove off, ignoring the dangling seat belt at his shoulder.

Nell scoffed, "Your funeral." She settled into a comfortable slouch, staring out at the rainy night. "So, what is she anyway? The lake girl?"

"Probably a species of water sprite," he muttered.

"You mean you don't know?" Nell looked at him in surprise. "And you went after her anyway? Damn, I thought you military guys were all about planning."

John's head jerked towards her. "How'd you know I was military?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Nell rolled her eyes and pointed at his chest. John glanced down to discover that his dog tags had slipped out at some point during the scuffle. He scooped them up and tucked them back under his shirt. "I was in the Marines."

"Oh, right! Like that Damon Wayans movie," she lowered her voice to a comical macho timbre, "'We don't plan. We improvise.' You ever see that flick?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Christ, she was worse than Dean. At least he followed orders; if John told him to be quiet, he wouldn't say a word till he got the nod.

"Not really," she answered flippantly, "I'm pretty sure I talk in my sleep, too." She grinned.

Despite himself, John felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and hastily quashed it. There was no damn way he was letting himself get attached to this vampire. "Soon as we get back to town we go our separate ways."

Nell shrugged. "Fine, if that's how you want it."

"It is."

They rode the rest of the way in silence (for which John was grateful). Dally's Alley was the first place they came across. John pulled up in front of the bar and Nell got out without a word. As soon as he heard the door close he drove off. He didn't even spare her a glance in the rearview mirror.

Nell watched the departing pickup's taillights merge with the rest of the busy highway traffic. The bullet lodged in her chest was a mild irritant, kind of like heartburn. It would take a day or two for it to work itself out of her body. Till then it would be an interesting souvenir of tonight's experiences. Nell smiled. For the first time in a long time she felt a thrill of excitement that had nothing to do with feeding or running for her life. If John Winchester thought she would just meekly walk away after that, he was about to be sorely mistaken.


	3. Rusalka

**A/N:** Praise be to Wikipedia for providing quick and easy research into such things as water sprites from around the world and making it possible to pretend I know what the heck I'm writing about.

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

* * *

><p>Nell lay on the mattress she kept in the back of her van, the curtains of the windows drawn to block out the scorching sun. There was a time when she was a sun worshiper, spending as little time indoors as possible. Her skin had turned nut brown and her hair bleached almost white. Back when she was still human.<p>

It wasn't her idea, becoming a vampire. There were too many things about being a human that she'd loved to want to give up even for a chance at immortality. It would have been so easy to slip into angry bitterness over her lost humanity. On her own, she would have. She pretty much did these last ten years. The upbeat, joking Nell was replaced with a hollow facsimile that only went through the motions of existing because there was nothing else to do. The rut she dug herself into was one of grief and depression. It got easier to live with, but these feelings never really went away. More than once she caught herself idly fantasizing about laying herself across the tracks to let the next passing train decapitate her and put her out of her misery. But then John Winchester attacked and suddenly she discovered she wasn't so eager to die after all. The experience woke her from her decade-long trance and forced her to assess the way her life (or unlife) was going.

It really was curiosity that drove her to stow away underneath John's truck. Despite the fact that Nell herself was a vampire, she never really believed in any of this supernatural stuff. Ghosts and demons and monsters. It just seemed too farfetched. But then she saw the lake girl—something that wasn't human, but wasn't vampire either—and Nell felt a surge of elation she hadn't experienced since she was a little girl and watched her first meteor shower. Only this was way more exciting since the only way a meteor could kill you was if it crashed into you. That lake girl was _strong_. It took everything Nell had just to break free of her. She couldn't walk away without knowing what kind of creature that was; that'd be like leaving the theater in the middle of a murder-mystery.

But more than that, she couldn't walk away from John. She saw something in those dark eyes of his that was all too familiar; an old pain he carried so long it became a part of him. Nell wondered what that pain could be, and if it was anything like hers.

* * *

><p>John spent the entire day poring through his notebooks and reference texts in search of what this water-dwelling creature might be. There were any number of sprites and elementals to be found in cultures throughout the world. John slowly whittled them down to a few that matched what little he knew of the mysterious lake girl.<p>

In Germany there was the _Nix_: a river merman or mermaid who lured people to drown. The males were said to be shapeshifters, able to take on both human as well as fish or snake form. The females were beautiful women with fish tails, like the ocean-dwelling mermaids, but could take on human form and were recognized by the wet hems of their dresses.

In Greece there was the _Ondine_, a water spirit found in forest pools or waterfalls. It was immortal and therefore soulless, but could gain a soul if it married a human man and bore him a child. Ondines often lured prospective mates to them through singing. Should the husbands remain faithful, all was well. But if they were foolish enough to cheat, the Ondine that was wronged would lay a curse that caused the faithless husband to stop breathing the next time he slept. John wasn't so sure about this one, but wasn't willing to disregard the possibility altogether. Sometimes the folklore was a little off, such as with vampire legends.

Then there was the Russian _rusalka_, a female ghost or demon that dwelt in waterways who, like the nixies, lured men into the water and drowned them. In most versions rusalki were unquiet dead beings; people who died violently and before their time, such as young women who committed suicide because they'd been jilted, or unmarried pregnant women. Sometimes they were the illegitimate infants themselves, murdered by their mothers shortly after birth. In every version, the deaths resulted from drowning and the rusalki were doomed to haunt the body of water in which they perished. They could only survive out of water at night and only so long as their hair remained wet.

Something in his gut told John this was the one. The lake girl could still be a nix or ondine, but he didn't think so. There was nothing in his research to indicate the other water spirits were restricted by nightfall, and every disappearance he believed the lake girl responsible for took place only at night. So, rusalka it was.

Okay, now he knew what he was up against. How was he going to kill it?

A knock at the door derailed his train of thought. Who the hell could that be? Even if he'd forgotten to hang the Do Not Disturb sign—which he hadn't—it was way too late for the maid to show up. Sunset had long since come and gone. John stood, picked up a gun from the nightstand, and went to stand beside the door. "Who's there?"

"Room service!" a horribly familiar voice chirped.

John closed his eyes and slowly banged his head against the wall.

Nell rapped on the door again. "C'mon, man. I brought takeout. You don't want it getting cold, do ya?"

"I thought we agreed we'd go our separate ways?" John growled.

"I changed my mind. Woman's prerogative. Not like we shook on it or anything."

John glanced at the gun in his hand, but decided against it. Not as if it would kill her, and besides, he'd have to open the door to use it, which meant giving her the opportunity to slip in. Never mind that Nell could easily bust down the flimsy door. She obviously wasn't interested in causing that kind of mayhem. John decided to ignore her instead. If he ignored her long enough, maybe she'd finally get it through her thick skull he didn't want her around and go away.

As if reading his mind, Nell warned, "If you don't open this door soon I'm gonna make a scene. You're all about keeping a low profile, right?" Her tone suddenly changed to desperate and wheedling, "C'mon, baby, lemme in! I'm sorry I said no to the threesome! Please, honey, think of the kids! They'll be heartbroken if _another_ daddy runs out on 'em! Open the door! _Boo-hoo-hoo!_" she wailed.

John couldn't help it, she sounded so ridiculous that laughter started bubbling up in him. He managed to get it under control, but it wasn't easy. He was starting to like her and that scared him. He couldn't afford to like her. But he also couldn't afford letting her wake up the entire motel and probably getting the management involved. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he opened the door. "Get in here."

"Thanks!" Beaming, Nell practically skipped into the room, a white paper bag in each hand. As John shut the door she turned and thrust both bags towards him. "I brought kung pao chicken and sweet and sour pork. I love either one, so whichever you pick's cool with me."

John's eyebrows rose. "You're gonna eat?"

"Well, yeah," she rolled her eyes, "Why d'you think I got two meals?"

"I thought vampires couldn't eat normal food."

"Sure we can, it's just most don't bother because we can't absorb any nutrients from it. Personally, I think it's great. I can eat whatever I want and don't have to worry about my ass getting bigger." She grinned. "It's awesome."

The smell of the Chinese food reminded John that he hadn't eaten anything all day. His stomach groaned and he took the kung pao chicken, muttering, "Least if you stuff your face you might shut up for a few minutes."

Nell laughed and went to flop down in the couch, opening her takeout bag. "Sweet! They gave me an extra egg roll."

John stared at her for a moment, looked down at the gun still in his hand, then sighed and returned the weapon to the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the paper bag, pulling out the box of takeout and a pair of chopsticks. They ate in silence, for which John was grateful. Nell seemed content to focus all her attention on her meal. Pretty soon John did the same as he let his hunger take over. He was so intent on filling his stomach he didn't notice when Nell finished. She set her empty box aside, stood up, and wandered over to the table where the research materials were still scattered. "What's all this?"

John looked up with a start and felt an urge to snap at her to keep her hands off, like he sometimes did when his boys were little. He felt it again when Nell picked up a piece of paper covered in notes he scribbled down.

"Rusalka? What's that?"

John glared resentfully. "A Russian water spirit."

"Oh. Is that what you think the lake girl is?"

"Fits what we saw." John winced at his use of the word "we", worried it might encourage Nell to stick around. Not that she looked like she planned to leave anytime soon.

Nell dug her smartphone out of her jacket pocket and started tapping the screen. John frowned. "What're you doing?"

"Checking out a little miracle of the modern age known as Wikipedia." At John's puzzled look, she smirked and said, "Get with the twenty-first century, cowboy." It was only a matter of minutes before she knew almost as much about rusalki as he did. "So, how're we gonna take out the lake girl?"

"We?" John stood as his anger started to return. "There's no _we_ in this. I work alone."

He towered over her, but Nell wasn't intimidated. She could've easily picked him with one hand if she wanted. "Working alone almost got you drowned," she reminded him, "C'mon, it'll be fun. You'll be the brains and I'll be the muscle!"

"No!" John shouted so abruptly Nell jumped in surprise. He moved closer and she almost took a step back, but stubbornly held her ground instead. John's brown eyes were almost black with the emotions roiling in them. When his mouth opened, Nell expected a tirade. Instead, he spoke barely above a whisper, "Last time I worked with a partner a good man died. I haven't been responsible for anyone's life but my own since then." Not entirely true, considering he teamed up with his sons last year. But she didn't need to know that. "There...is...no..._we_."

Nell tilted her head, gazing thoughtfully up at him. "I don't die so easily, you know. And I don't remember seeing the lake girl swinging an axe, so I'm pretty sure my head's safe. The only life you really oughta worry about is yours."

"I don't care about your life," he growled.

"That's not what it sounded like a second ago."

John turned away. He stormed over to the door and opened it, a clear indication that Nell had worn out her welcome. Still, she didn't budge.

"Just let me see this through," she implored, "This one thing and then you'll never have to see my ugly face again. Please?"

John stared at her for a long while, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let the door swing closed. "You could've said I owed you one."

The corner of Nell's mouth quirked. "Actually, you owe me _two_. But that's not how I roll." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her black denim jacket. "So, what's the plan?"

* * *

><p>The plan, as it turned out, was more research, this time this time of local drownings or disappearances of young women or infants who fit the rusalka legend. They went to the local library and started sifting through archived newspapers in search of any likely events that occurred in or around the lake. Much to Nell's regret, this information wasn't available on a computer. The two of them spent long hours poring through reels of microfilm of the local newspaper. Even worse, they had to do this during the day since the library closed early in the evenings. Nell slouched in her chair, a pair of dark sunglasses shielding her oversensitive eyes even though they were indoors. She looked hungover.<p>

"Why are we bothering with this?" she mumbled dully.

John smirked at her irritation, thinking it nothing short of karmic. "'Cause direct confrontation didn't go so well. Besides, it knows we're after it. It'll keep its distance from us now."

"Makes sense."

"Which means we gotta turn to the legend's other options. If this rusalka's the spirit of a jilted woman who committed suicide or a woman who was murdered, it'll want revenge on whoever was responsible."

"And if it's a drowned illegitimate newborn she'll wanna get baptized?" Nell asked dubiously, recalling what her research said. "I gotta say, that part of the legend sounds kind of iffy."

"You'd be surprised how much iffy folklore turns out to be true."

Nell mulled over this. "If it turns out she was a woman who drowned, what do we do then? How're we supposed to avenge her? Kill the guy responsible? Drag him out to the lake and throw him to her?"

"We'll figure it out," John replied calmly.

"First you go charging in, now you're studying," she grumbled as she wrestled a new reel into the machine, "I can't help but wonder if you're trying to drive me away with boredom."

"It's not all about you." Though partly.

Nell suddenly perked up. She pointed at the screen. "Hey, check it out. I think I found her."

John got up from his chair and went to look over her shoulder. The page depicted was taken from an issue that ran eighteen months ago. The article that had their attention was only a single column with a small, grainy photo of a young twenty-something woman. Despite the poor quality of the picture, they recognized the woman as their very own lake girl.

LOCAL WOMAN DROWNS HERSELF, the headline read. The article said the woman's name was Helena Lukyanenko-Keene, a Russian immigrant who'd come to the States to marry a man she met on a matchmaking website. It went on to mention that she and her husband were recently separated at the time of her death. Her body was never recovered; all that was found were her shoes with a suicide note stuffed into one of them and an empty bottle of sleeping pills, all left neatly along the lake's shore.

"Wow," Nell remarked drily, "Sounds like a bad soap opera: Russian mail-order bride comes to the USA hoping to find a better life, gets dumped by her hubby and throws herself off a bridge in her grief."

"Actually, she just took some pills and went for a swim," John pointed out.

Nell shook her head and squinted behind the lenses of her shades as she scrutinized the article. "Says she was nine weeks pregnant at the time, too," she scoffed, "The shit people do to themselves. Like getting dumped is the end of the world. I betcha if she'd lived she would've looked back five years from now and wondered what the hell she even saw in the guy. Besides a green card, I mean."

John ignored her rambling and leaned closer, crowding her so she had to tilt her body aside to give him room. "Looking for something?" she asked.

John pointed, "The husband's name. Benjamin Keene."

"What're you gonna do? Go confront him? Tell him he's gotta do some kind of penance so his dead ex can stop killing people?"

"Not exactly." Something in his tone was distinctly ominous. Nell eyed him suspiciously as he straightened and headed for the exit without even bothering to shut down his microfilm reader. She was tempted to follow, but her do-gooder conscience insisted she put all the microfilm reels back first. She did so quickly and hurried after him.

Nell recoiled as the sunlight hit her full blast. She pulled a baseball cap out of her back pocket and put it on, pulling the brim low to further shield her eyes. John was already waiting for her in his pickup, the engine humming patiently. Nell jogged over and climbed into the passenger side, slamming the door with a sigh of relief. "Thank god for tinted windows. So, what're you planning? It's got something to do with the husband, right?"

John put the truck in gear and pulled out into traffic. When he didn't answer right away, Nell prodded his shoulder. "Well?"

"We're gonna use the husband."

Nell frowned. "Do what now? Use him how?"

John finally looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "As bait."


	4. Girl On Fire

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p><em>"Bait?"<em> Nell recoiled as if the word itself was obscene. "What the hell are you talking about?"

John sighed as if he was reining in his temper, which he probably was, given the nature of their relationship. "Just like it sounds. We'll take him out to the lake tonight and have him wait by the shore. Hopefully, the rusalka will sense him and won't wanna pass up the chance at getting back at him."

Nell shook her head in dismay. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You seriously wanna kidnap this guy and stake him out like a sacrificial goat? I mean, granted, he's a jerk for dumping her and all, but..."

"We're not gonna kidnap him," John interrupted, "He'll come with us voluntarily."

"Why's that? You gonna explain to him how we need his help luring his dead wife out of the lake she's haunting?" Nell cocked an eyebrow in challenge.

John smirked. "I can be pretty damn persuasive when I have to."

Nell slouched in her seat. Even with the tinted windows, the shades, and the ball cap, the sun still irritated her. "I still don't like it," she muttered, "Using a human being for monster bait. It doesn't feel right."

"And feeding off their blood does?"

"That's different," she snapped, angered by his snide remark, "I don't kill anyone, and I sure as hell don't take their blood without their permission. What _you're _talking about is putting the guy in the line of fire. He could get killed! And you're acting like you don't even care."

John suddenly pulled the truck onto the curb and turned in his seat to glare at her. "And I don't appreciate you questioning what I do," he growled, "If there was another option, I'd take it. But there _isn't_. There's no way to predict where the hell the rusalka might show up next time, and in case you didn't notice, that's a big damn lake it's hiding out in. Coming up with another plan is only going to waste time and give it the chance to drown someone else."

"So, letting her drown Keene's better?" Nell retorted.

"No. We'll keep him safe. We just need him to get the rusalka to show up where we want it to."

Nell heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead; staying awake past sunrise always gave her a headache and this conversation wasn't helping. "Okay, assuming we somehow convince the guy to go along with this sick plan and it actually works, what then? What're we supposed to do with the lake girl once we catch her? Tie her down and wait for sunrise? Get a priest to baptize her? Or, wait! Maybe I can sit on her chest while you attack her with a hair dryer," her voice dripped with sarcasm.

John rolled his eyes. "We'll wait for sunrise. It's the most consistent part of all the rusalka legends; daylight kills them."

"Yeah, that's what they said about vampires, too," Nell groused, slumping even lower.

John stared at the female vampire, with her arms crossed and her sullen expression. She looked a lot like his kids when they were younger and sulked over whatever punishment he had to mete out when they got too rambunctious. And that thought made him wish she wasn't coming along, not because he preferred to work alone, but because he didn't want to worry about her. It was ridiculous; she was ten times stronger than him and almost impossible to kill. She wasn't even human, for god's sake!

John focused his attention on his hands gripping the steering wheel. "If you wanna back out, now's the time."

Nell threw him an annoyed look. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, cowboy. I don't like this plan of yours, but you've been doing this whole monster hunting thing way longer than I have. I'm just gonna trust that you know what you're doing." She straightened a little to gaze at him more levelly. Even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, John could swear her eyes glowed ominously. "But if I think you're not doing everything you can to keep Keene alive, if he's just a worm on a hook to you..." she let the rest of the sentence hang between them.

John chuckled, "Didn't figure you for the type who'd stand up for the little guy."

Nell shrugged. "Think of it as me protecting my food source, if it makes you more comfortable."

It didn't.

* * *

><p>It was well into evening when they approached the simple ranch home. Benjamin Keene answered the knock at the door with his infant son resting on his hip. John could practically feel Nell's heated scowl focused on the back of his head. "Are you Benjamin Keene?"<p>

"Ye-es," the average-looking brown-haired man answered uncertainly, wondering if he was about to be subjected to some kind of sales pitch or religious spiel.

The tall, swarthy man on his doorstep smiled and produced a business card. "John Henry with the _Chronicle_. This is Nell Reese, my photographer." Nell showed him the camera hanging around her neck, bought that very day from a local pawn shop. "We've been assigned to do a follow-up on your late wife," John explained.

Keene frowned, shifting his son to a more comfortable position. "It's been over a year. The _Chronicle_ doesn't have anything better to write about?"

"It's just gonna be a blurb on the back page," Nell said before John had a chance to respond, "The kinda thing they give to the new guy at the office to break him in." She grinned at the look John gave her.

"Well, I don't know what I can tell you that hasn't already been said before," Keene said. He stepped aside to give them room to enter.

"Actually," John said, "We thought we might do the interview out at the lake."

Keene stared. "Excuse me?"

"We understand if you're too uncomfortable with the idea," Nell once again interjected, earning her another glare from her companion.

Keene bit his lip, glanced at the baby he cradled. "Helena's death was a horrible shock. I honestly never thought she'd go through with it. I _still_ can't believe she did it."

"She told you she was gonna kill herself?" Nell blurted. This time John didn't bother to look at her, partly because he was equally curious to the guy's answer.

Keene nodded. "I thought she was just trying to guilt me into staying. Our marriage was a wreck by then," he shook his head sadly, "Leaving her wasn't an easy decision for me. I did try to work things out, but...there wasn't anything left to salvage. Even with the baby. She was pregnant, you know?"

The two "reporters" nodded.

Keene sighed. "And she killed herself anyway. What kind of person does that?"

The moment fell into uncomfortable silence. Naturally, it was Nell who finally broke it. "Cute kid you've got there."

"Thanks," Keene grinned, hefting the gurgling infant, "Donnie's six months old today."

Something strange passed through John's expression, gone too fast for Nell to put a label to. "It really would be a help to us if you let us conduct the interview at the lake. If you're up for it, of course," he said, smiling in that disarming way of his, "Think of it as closure."

Keene mulled it over for a few seconds. "My wife should be home in about half an hour," he replied, still uncertain, "I guess...I can give you a few minutes."

John smiled. "Thank you."

"Do me a favor. Don't tell my wife what this is about. She really doesn't like to hear anything about that part of my past."

"We understand," John replied.

Nell did her best not to look worried.

Keene's wife arrived as expected and, after a few introductions and a couple of white lies, the three of them left her at the house with the baby while they left for the lake. Keene insisted on taking his own car while they followed in John's truck. Apparently, he didn't entirely trust them. Nell couldn't blame him. She sure as hell wouldn't trust them, in his place.

"This is all kinds of wrong."

"You had your chance to back out," John reminded her in his stern military voice, "You wanted to know what it's like to be a hunter. This is part of it."

"Using people as sacrificial lambs?"

"He is _not_ going to die," John snapped, turning his hard gaze on her, "Yeah, he'll be put in danger, but neither of us is gonna let him get killed. It's a small evil to get rid of an even bigger one. Those are some of the shittier choices hunters have to make sometimes. Deal with it."

Nell scowled and stared out the passenger window. The sun had set, allowing her to put away her baseball cap and shades. She felt more energized now that the night was settling in. Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten the chance to feed yet. The cravings weren't too bad at the moment. Nothing she couldn't handle.

Keene led them to the exact spot where Helena went for her last swim. They all got out of their vehicles, leaving the headlights on so they could see. The lake's shore was littered with pebbles smoothed by eons of lapping waves. Walking on it was a little tricky. More than once someone's foot skidded on the unstable terrain.

"They found her shoes around here," Keene said, pointing at the general area. Nell took a picture for appearance's sake. The camera's flash lit up the area for a brief instant before plunging them back into darkness.

While John went through the motions of interviewing Keene, Nell tuned her preternatural senses to their surroundings, waiting for the slightest hint that the rusalka was near. Nothing about this plan sit well with her. She really hadn't thought that John would be the type to do something like this, risk another person's life without them even knowing they were in danger. Especially after he told her he was out to _save_ lives. But the plan was in motion, like it or not. All Nell could do now was make sure she spotted Helena before the undead woman got the drop on them. Nell stood with her back to the vehicles, partly so their headlights wouldn't screw with her night vision, partly so Keene wouldn't see her eyes glow. That definitely wouldn't be so easy to explain away.

_"Come with me..."_

John and Nell tensed. Keene stared quizzically out into the dark. "You hear that?"

_"Be with me..."_

Nell carelessly tossed her camera aside and she and John drew their guns. This time the ammo consisted of solid iron slugs with ancient runes carved into them. Iron was a common weapon used against various fae creatures, which included water sprites. They wouldn't kill the rusalka, but they might slow her down enough for them to trap her. Trap her and hold her until dawn.

Keene stared at the weapons in growing alarm. "What the hell's going on?"

"You might wanna head back to your car," John suggested coolly.

Keene didn't look like he needed further encouragement. He probably would have run if the smooth gravel wasn't there to hamper him. He slogged maybe half a dozen steps when a white blur leaped out of the lake's black water and landed gracefully in his path. Keene gaped at the face of his dead wife. "Helena...?"

John and Nell swung their weapons and a couple of shots rang out. The rusalka shrieked as the iron bullets penetrated her chest. What poured out of her wounds, however, wasn't blood. It was water. Keene staggered away from the apparition, mouth and eyes wide with horror. "You're dead!" he shouted, feet slipping on the loose rocks, "They pulled your body out of the lake months ago! We buried you in the ground! You're dead!"

John froze at the man's panicked words. "Shit."

"What?" Nell asked, not at all happy with his reaction.

"If Helena's remains were recovered the rusalka can't be her."

"Then who the hell is she?"

The rusalka's pale arms reached for Keene. "Daddy..."

Nell blinked in surprise. "Whoa." This situation was rapidly growing to Freudian proportions. The article said Helena was pregnant when she drowned. Her body was eventually recovered, but apparently she and her unborn fetus parted ways at some point and the cursed daughter was left to transform into the creature confronting them.

Keene tripped and landed hard on his ass. He scrambled back, flinging pebbles up in his wake. Still the rusalka came towards him, hands outstretched. "Daddy, come with me. See where I live, it's so beautiful!"

"Get away from me!"

More gunfire. The bullets slammed into the creature's body. She glared at her attackers with inhumanly green eyes, her mouth stretched wider than any living person's could and a horrific screech emerged, threatening to deafen them all. John and Nell continued to shoot until the guns were empty. The onslaught appeared to bring the rusalka some pain. She turned and started running towards the lake.

"Don't let it get to the water!" John bellowed through the ringing in their ears. Nell dropped her now useless weapon and ran with a speed that rivaled the lake girl's. She tackled the creature inches from the gently lapping shore and instantly got the wind knocked out of her courtesy of a well placed elbow to the stomach. Anger kicked in and she grabbed the rusalka by her long, wet hair and started dragging her farther inland like a cartoon caveman. The lake girl kicked and screamed the entire way. It was all Nell could do not to lose her grip.

"What do we do now?" she shouted over the creature's howls, "I can't hold her much longer!"

John reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic squeeze bottle. "Pin it down."

Nell did so, but it wasn't easy. The way the rusalka writhed under her, it was like her limbs were multi-jointed, or lacked bones altogether.

John glanced at Keene, who sat gaping in shock. "Go home, Benjamin. Tell yourself this was all a bad dream, if that's what it takes to get you through the day."

Keene stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then slowly got to his feet and lurched towards his waiting car. A minute later his headlights turned away and he drove off for the sanity of his home.

John popped the cap off the squeeze bottle and sprayed the contents over the rusalka's head, paying especial attention to her long tresses. Nell's nose wrinkled at the smell. "Lighter fluid?"

John smirked and flicked his Zippo lighter. "Better than a hair dryer."

Nell's eyes widened. Before she could say anything John touched the small flame to the lake girl's drenched hair and her entire head was instantly engulfed in crackling light. If anything, the creature's screams grew even more piercing, her thrashing more frantic as the intense heat sucked the wetness from her hair. Nell watched in morbid fascination as the lake girl's blonde tresses curled and blackened. Her struggles grew weaker as the life-sustaining moisture evaporated. Her slender body began to wither before their eyes. Skin and clothing crackled like dead leaves. As the last flames flickered and died, the rusalka crumbled into dust.

Nell stared at the powder clinging to her hands. Her eyes turned upward to meet Johns and saw neither victory nor remorse in his gaze.

"It's over," he deep voice spoke with finality. Nell looked down at her hands again and wasn't surprised to see them begin to shake.


	5. John's Story

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>Nell was silent the entire drive back to the motel. Somehow, this bothered John far more than her constant chatter. He didn't know what she was thinking, if she was angry or upset or depressed by what happened at the lake. He didn't know why it mattered to him; all he'd wanted since she barged into his life was to get rid of her. Now it looked like his wish might come true. So why wasn't he glad?<p>

He parked the pickup in an empty spot not too far from his motel room. Nell got out before he even killed the engine and walked away. John quickly climbed out of the truck's cab and started to follow her. "Nell?"

"It's late and I haven't fed yet," she replied curtly over her shoulder, not even bothering to pause.

John slowed to a halt, watching the slim blonde retreat. "I didn't enjoy it."

She stopped so abruptly it was like a jump-cut in a film. She turned around, face set in a dangerous scowl. "What part didn't you enjoy?" he asked in a low voice, "When you set that girl's head on fire? Or when you traumatized the clueless guy you used for bait?"

"It had to be done," John answered calmly, "There was no other way."

"Bullshit," Nell hissed, predatory eyes flashing with reflected light, "You could've thought of another way, you just didn't want to. Maybe you're always that brutal or maybe you just wanted to run me off. I don't really care which. I'm done." She started to turn away, then changed her mind as more angry words spilled out. "You goddamned hunters don't care who you hurt, so long as you get to kill your monster, do you? You just rush in, guns waving, and people you say you're protecting wind up caught in the crossfire." She pointed back towards the lake. "Benjamin Keene's probably gonna spend the rest of his life in therapy, maybe even drive his wife and kid away. You ever think about that? You ever think about the lives you might've wrecked thanks to your stupid hunts?"

John's brown eyes gazed somberly at her. "I only focus on the lives I've saved."

Nell laughed in derision. "Self-righteous asshole." She stormed off without another word, hands shoved in her pockets and shoulders hunched in anger. John stayed where he was and watched her until she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. He stood in thought for several minutes, then returned to his pickup, started the engine, and drove off.

About twenty minutes later he found Keene sitting on the front steps of his house, rocking back and forth as he stared out into the night with wide eyes. He didn't react at first as John approached, not until only a few feet separated them. Keene's eyes rolled to look up at the tall man. He lowered his clenched hands from where he'd pressed them to his mouth. "Stay away from me."

"I won't stay long," John promised, "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"Oh, I got home alright," Keene giggled semi-hysterically, "But I'm sure as shit not okay. I mean...I... What the fuck _happened?_" He stared at John in desperation. "What the hell was that thing? Why did it look like Helena? Why did it call me-" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

John sighed, rubbed a hand across his face. He slowly crouched down to put his eyes level with Keene's before answering. "What that thing was doesn't really matter now. All you need to know was that it killed a lot of people and would've killed more if we hadn't stopped it. It's gone now. You don't have to worry about it anymore."

Keene shook his head, tears glimmering in his eyes. "I can't tell my wife about this. I wanted to run inside and wake her up, tell her. But I couldn't even bring myself to step through the door. I've been sitting out here this whole time wondering how the hell I can go back to the way things were after what I saw." He ran both trembling hands through his already mussed hair. "I didn't believe Helena when she told me she was pregnant. I thought she was just trying to keep me from leaving her. Just like I didn't believe she was really gonna kill herself. I should've listened to her. I should've done something to stop her." The tears spilled down his cheeks. "You have no idea how hard it was for me to get past the guilt. I almost broke up with the woman I'm married to now. But when she told me we were gonna have a baby... I thought it was a second chance."

John stared at Keene's haunted expression and felt a stab of empathy laced with a generous amount of guilt. He slowly reached out and laid a tentative hand on the man's shoulder. Keene tensed, but didn't pull away.

"It _is_ a second chance," John said, "Talk to your wife. Tell her what happened tonight, even if you have to say it was a nightmare. Keeping the pain to yourself will only make it worse. Believe me, I know."

Keene stared down at his shoes while the tears dripped from his chin, then finally nodded. He dried his face on his sleeve and stood, turned to the door and opened it. He entered the house without a backward glance or a word of acknowledgment, neither of which John expected or wanted. It was his actions that left Keene tormented; he sure as hell didn't deserve thanks for his half-assed counseling.

John straightened from his crouch and headed back to where he left his truck parked, the sound of the front door clicking shut adding an air of finality to the moment.

* * *

><p>The number 3 was common in superstition and mythology as a symbol of good fortune and of balance: man, woman, and child; mother, maiden, and crone; father, son, and holy ghost. John ordered his shots in threes. He was on his third round and starting to feel like he was on his way to a good, head-splitting hangover later on. He set the second empty shot glass on the table, upside down, and reached for the third just as Nell seated herself at the table and snatched it up, downing it in one gulp and slamming it down beside the other two. John threw her a mildly annoyed look and signaled the waitress for another round.<p>

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again," he muttered.

Nell unslung the duffel bag she carried over her shoulder and set it down beside her chair. Leaning back in her seat, she looked him over and replied, "And I thought you'd show up here sooner. What kept you?"

John shrugged, his index finger smearing patterns in the spilled alcohol on the tabletop. "Checked on Benjamin Keene."

Nell pursed her lips. "And?"

"He's...about as well off as you'd expect," he sighed, "I talked to him for a little while. If he doesn't push his family away, he might have a chance."

"We shouldn't have involved him," Nell murmured. John didn't argue. They fell silent as the waitress approached to replace the empty shots with full ones. As soon as she sauntered away Nell picked up the first shot and held it up in a toast. "To necessary evils?"

John shook his head. "I don't know why I did that to him," he said, his voice taking on a raw edge, "I wouldn't have a year ago."

Nell lowered her drink and set it on the table, untouched. "What happened a year ago?"

"Long story." He fell silent for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts while Nell waited patiently. "My wife was murdered in 1983. I fell asleep in front of the TV and woke up hearing her scream. It sounded like she was in our youngest's nursery, but when I got there I didn't see her. Not until something dripped on my hand and I looked up and found her pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from her stomach. She was still alive. I could see the pain in her eyes. Then she burst into flames."

Nell's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't say anything. She waited for John to continue.

"I got out," he said, "Our sons, Dean and Sammy, got out. But I couldn't save Mary. Nobody believed what I saw. They said it was faulty wiring that caused the fire." He snorted. "Sometimes I wished it was. It would've been easier to move on if it was just an accident that killed her."

"What was it?" Nell asked.

"A demon." He met her gaze, daring her to dispute him. She didn't.

"And that's why you became a hunter?"

John nodded. "Me and my sons. It was more than twenty years before we finally tracked the bastard down. It almost beat us. It..." he fell silent for a moment, remembering that horrific day when he was captured and possessed, watching helplessly through his own eyes while the demon tortured Dean. It took everything he had to fight back, gaining Sam a few precious seconds to grab the Colt and use it. But the demon didn't die that day; Sam couldn't bring himself to kill his own father in the process. It wasn't until later, at the hospital, that they finally succeeded.

"Truth was, I didn't plan on killing it then," he confessed, "All I could think about was saving Dean. I couldn't let someone I loved die, not again." But there was no earthly way his son would survive his injuries. There was only one way John could think of; he needed to strike a deal with the devil. He would have gone through with it, too, if it weren't for Sam. His younger son knew he was up to something. John had hoped Dean's condition would distract him, but Sam proved every bit as persistent as his father. After a great deal of fighting, screaming, threatening, and even a couple of thrown punches, John finally admitted what he had planned. He'd fully expected Sam to be against it, and at first it looked like he was about to argue, but then his son froze as an idea began to glimmer behind his eyes.

"Y'know," Sam said, uttering each word in thoughtful care, "I think you're right."

John was dumfounded, until Sam shared his idea with him.

Their old friend Bobby Singer provided the necessary materials. John sneaked down into the hospital's basement and conducted the summoning. The yellow-eyed demon came, as he hoped, and John offered to barter the Colt in return for Dean's life. But the demon wanted more than just the gun. "I want you," the creature grinned maliciously, "Or rather, your soul. It's only fair. After all, what parent wouldn't willingly sacrifice his soul for his child, hmm?"

John had no choice but to agree. Minutes later, Dean woke from his coma, his wounds inexplicably healed. The doctor called it nothing short of a miracle. John spent the next few minutes with his sons—saying goodbye without really saying it—before going to the room where he was told to meet with the demon so that he could pay his debt.

"Alright," John said, staring at the creature on the opposite side of the room, "I'm ready."

"Where's the gun, John?" the demon's mocking tone held a threatening edge, "You gave me your word."

"I did." It was then that Sam burst through the door and fired the Colt. "But _I_ didn't," he said.

The yellow-eyed demon they'd spent a lifetime hunting didn't get a chance to react. The Colt's last bullet entered its forehead just left of center and burst out the back of its skull. The demon's unnatural eyes widened in shock as a storm seemed to rage beneath its host's skin, then the yellow faded into ordinary blue and the empty body collapsed to the floor.

There was no time to savor their victory, since they did, after all, set off a firearm in a crowded hospital. John and his sons managed to escape in the chaos and a few weeks later they went their separate ways.

"I always thought when I finally killed the thing that murdered my wife, I'd retire from hunting. Settle down, try and have a normal life," John's laugh was devoid of humor, "But I've been doing this for so long, it's all I really know. And that'd be fine, except none of it feels like it matters anymore. Everything I did for the last twenty years led up to destroying the demon. Now that it's done, I don't know what to do with myself. I don't have a purpose; I'm just going through the motions."

"What about your sons?" Nell asked quietly.

John's mouth curved in a rueful smile. "They're still hunting, only they still feel like they're accomplishing something. They were never as obsessed as me about revenge. Hunting's enough for them."

"Why aren't you still with them?"

"Let's just say the time we spend together is better in small doses."

Nell snorted, "I hear that. All the best conversations I had with my mom were over the phone."

John gave her a funny look.

"What?" she said defensively, "You don't believe I had a mother? I wasn't born a vampire, y'know."

"I know." He just never gave it much thought. Easier to kill vampires that way. But Nell wasn't a vampire that needed killing.

"So what now?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject, "Where to next?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, my social calendar isn't all that busy, so I figured I might tag along. If you're okay with it. I don't care." She toyed with her still-full shot glass, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

John's smile broadened. He didn't question it, nor did he question the fact that he no longer had the urge to drink himself to oblivion. "I suppose," he sighed, offhanded, "If you don't have anything better to do."

"That's good, 'cause I already got rid of my van. And I hate hitchhiking."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "My sons are gonna think I finally lost my mind, teaming up with a vampire."

"I'm sure other vampires would think I'm nuts for teaming up with a hunter." Nell shrugged, then picked up her shot glass and downed the contents.

John raised his own glass. "To crazy decisions."

Nell picked up the last shot and clinked it against his. "Crazy decisions."

They both tossed back their drinks at the same time and slammed the empty shot glasses down on the table.


	6. Myling

**A/N:** Song lyrics borrowed from Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Saturday Night Special".

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>An hour later they went back to John's motel room where he let Nell take the couch. Morning was still a ways off, so she wasn't at all sleepy. She curled up on the sofa with a book she dug out of her duffel bag (one of the advantages of night vision was not having to turn the lamp on to read). It wasn't long before she heard John's breathing change and knew he'd fallen asleep. Nell set her book aside and watched the slumbering man. He lay flat on his back, head turned away from her, so all she could see was his tousled black and gray-flecked hair.<p>

Hearing John tell his story gave her a new perspective about Hunters. Nell never really gave much thought as to why some people dedicated their lives to tracking down and killing "supernatural" beings; it was too easy to think of them as overly macho guys who got bored with ordinary big-game, or as sadistic assholes who thought they could torture human-like creatures without having to worry about any legal repercussions. Maybe those things were true for some Hunters, but not all of them. Nell suspected most became Hunters for reasons similar to John's; something horrific and unexplainable happened to their loved ones and they were out for revenge. That was a motivation she could understand all too well. This thought naturally led her to dredge up Harrison's face, along with the accompanying ache deep in her chest. Ten years hadn't made the memory of him less painful, it only made such moments happen less frequently.

Nell stretched herself out on the couch, her head pillowed on the armrest. Nocturnal or not, she needed the rest since John planned to head out in the morning. She didn't like the idea of sleeping the whole day away in the passenger seat of his truck. Nell didn't think John would try to pull a fast one and just leave her here after cementing their odd new partnership over drinks.

Maybe she'd tell John about Harrison, since he shared his story about his wife. Nell had a feeling he'd understand; John seemed to have accepted the fact that she, a vampire, wasn't inherently evil and was still an actual person. Nell wasn't so sure the same could be expected of other Hunters.

Nell smirked in sudden irony. "_I'm_ a Hunter, now," she murmured. How crazy was that? Apprenticing herself to someone who, not forty-eight hours ago, tried his damnedest to behead her. She'd laugh if she weren't worried about disturbing John's sleep. Instead, she settled for a silent grin and settled in a more comfortable position on the couch. A few minutes later, she managed to slip into a light doze.

* * *

><p>GREEN, MISSOURI<p>

ONE WEEK AGO

Miranda Paulsen sobbed as she struggled to remain upright. Her goal stood just a couple hundred yards away, dimly lit by the moon overhead; a tall stone wall with a wrought-iron gate. The sign hanging over the gate was illegible in the darkness, but it didn't matter. Miranda knew what it said.

Her trembling legs gave out and she fell to her knees with a cry of despair. She struggled to get back up, but the weight was too much.

"Keep going!" an impatient voice snapped at her.

Sobbing, Miranda continued on hands and knees. Sharp twigs and jutting stones cut into her palms, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. It only got worse the closer she got to the waiting gate. Her back bowed under the increasing weight of her burden. Suddenly, there was a horrible crack and she fell to the ground with a scream. She lay panting for a few seconds. Wheezing, really, since her whole body was being pushed relentlessly down into the dirt.

"Get up," her tormentor snarled, "We're almost there."

Miranda tried. She dug her fingers into the soil and dragged herself forward a few inches, tearing out a couple of her fingernails in the process. _My legs,_ she thought groggily, _I can't feel them. What happened to my legs?_

Her ribs compressed. She could actually _feel_ them bending. Then something gave and a terrible stabbing pain shot through her chest. Miranda opened her mouth to scream, but all that came out was a wet gurgle and a metallic taste that dribbled from her mouth.

_"Move!"_

"I...can't..." was all she could say. The last thing she heard was a bellow of rage, then something like a boulder struck her head, splitting her skull open like an egg, killing her instantly.

* * *

><p>PRESENT DAY<p>

"Where 're we goin'?" Nell slurred as she shuffled after John to the waiting pickup, toting her duffel and a bag of donuts John handed her when he woke her up (probably to soften the blow since his method of waking her involved a cup of icewater, the bastard). She was once again clad in sunglasses and baseball cap to shield herself from the gorgeous morning sun. "Please say Seattle. I could really use some clouds if I gotta keep getting up during the day."

"Nope," John replied casually, "Someplace a few thousand miles closer." He waited until they were both in the truck before he handed her a newspaper clipping. Nell squinted at the smallish type, her tired eyes making the letters swim.

"'Small town resident dies under mysterious circumstances,'" she read aloud, "'Miranda Paulsen, 26, of Green-" The town's named _Green_?"

"Yep. Green, Missouri," John clarified. He started the pickup's engine and pulled out into morning traffic.

Nell shook her head. "Dude, that's got Podunk written all over it. I thought you were taking me someplace exciting."

"Keep reading the article," John admonished with a smirk.

Nell sighed and turned back to the article, "'Miranda Paulsen, 26, of Green,'" she rolled her eyes, "'was found dead Tuesday morning near Greenleaf Cemetery. The condition of her body leaves authorities uncertain as to the nature of her death, whether accidental or the result of a homicide. What they do know is that it appears Ms. Paulsen was crushed beneath a tremendous weight, though the cause of this has yet to be found anywhere at the scene.'" Nell frowned. "So, what, a circus elephant sat on her?"

"Not exactly," John answered, "The way she was killed and fact that she was close to a cemetery tells me we might be dealing with a _myling._"

"Of course it is!. That was gonna be my first guess," she said wryly.

John chuckled. "What's the matter? Smartphone not working?"

"C'mon, man, I can barely keep my eyes open. Just gimme the skinny, already."

"'Kay, I'll give you the abbreviated version. According to Scandinavian folklore, mylings are the souls of unbaptized children that were left to die in remote areas, like woodlands. They attack lone travelers at night by jumping on their backs and demanding to be carried to the closest cemetery so they can finally have a proper burial on hallowed ground. Problem is, the closer they get to the cemetery, the heavier mylings get."

Nell quirked an eyebrow. "Heavy enough to crush somebody?"

"Apparently."

"Damn. So, uh, how are we gonna handle it? I'm just asking 'cause I'm not too keen on using some bystander as monster bait again," she said with just a touch of an edge to her voice.

"Don't worry," John assured her, "If we do wind up using somebody as bait, it'll be one of us."

Nell shrugged. "Fine with me. I got a strong back."

"But that's just a last resort. Usually, when dealing with something involving vengeful spirits, I try to locate the physical remains and salt and burn the bones."

"Okay, but how exactly do we find this myling thing's bones? I mean, the legend says it was dumped out in the middle of nowhere, right?"

"Yeah, but luckily, Green's a pretty small town. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out who the mother is. And when we find her, she can tell us where she left the infant. The fact that this is the first recorded instance of this kind of attack tells me it died recently, so the trail should still be relatively fresh."

"Awesome. Another undead baby to set on fire," Nell muttered, thinking back to the rusalka.

John sighed. "Half of what hunters do is burn remains so spirits can move on. I like to think we're doing 'em a favor. Like putting down a rabid dog."

"There's a cheerful thought." Nell yawned, mouth stretching so wide her jaw popped.

"You can take a nap, y'know," John suggested, "I'm not twisting your arm to stay awake."

"Nah, I'm fine. I'll just listen to some tunes." She switched on the radio, twisted the dial until an oldies station came on.

"_Big Jim's been drinking whiskey_

_And playing poker on a losing night_

_And pretty soon old Jim starts a-thinking_

_Somebody been cheating and lying_

_So big Jim commence to fighting_

_I wouldn't tell you no lie_

_Big Jim done pulled his pistol_

_Shot his friend right between the eyes..."_

John gave her a mildly surprised look. "Lyrics are pretty grim."

"Yeah, but the tune's so catchy I just don't care." Grinning, Nell hummed along to the chorus, _"Mister Saturday night special..."_

John smiled, shook his head. "That's the kind of music Dean listens to."

"Your older son, right? What kind d'you listen to, cowboy? Alan Jackson?" she drawled the country singer's name.

"No," John laughed, "I'm more of an Eagles fan, actually."

"That's a relief," Nell declared, "'Cause if you were into country music I'd have to consider ending our friendship here and now."

"We're not friends," John denied, though not unkindly.

"Sure we are! I saved your life, you bought me donuts. That's friendship in my book." She dug into the paper bag and pulled out a glazed donut, taking a huge bite of the sugary confection. Her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk's. John laughed at the sight.

"You need to feed again anytime soon?" he asked, expression turning serious.

Nell shook her head. "I'm good for a while," she mumbled around the pastry, spraying a few crumbs in the process.

John gave her a pained look. "Mind not talking with your mouth full?"

Nell rolled her eyes, swallowed. "Sorry, Mom. I'll clean up after myself."

Twenty minutes later the donuts were gone and Nell was sound asleep, her denim jacket draped over her head like a funeral shroud to blot out the sun. It was then that John discovered that vampires could in fact snore. Nell's came out as a long, nasal buzz on the inhale, followed by a quiet puff on the exhale. It made an amusing counterpoint to the music coming from the radio.

John's cellphone started ringing. John turned the volume down on the radio, then fished the phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. "Hello."

_"Hey, Dad,"_ Dean's laid-back voice greeted him.

John smiled. "Hey. How'd that thing down in Texas go?" There'd been a rash of unexplained cattle deaths at a couple of small ranches that really couldn't afford the losses. Locals blamed coyotes, though the carcasses were relatively untouched. The only marks to be found were three puncture wounds arranged like an inverted triangle, plus the bodies were completely drained of blood.

_"We were right,"_ Dean said smugly, _"It was a _chupacabra_."_

John scoffed, "They're moving farther north every year."

_"Well, that's what happens when people move in and drive 'em out of their territories."_ A sad fact; urban expansion affected more than just normal wildlife. _"I was all for offing it, but Sammy got all mushy and had us trank and relocate the ugly bastard to some national park instead."_

There was a time, no so long ago, when John would have felt disappointed in his younger son for showing any kind of mercy so a supernatural creature. Now, he glanced at the vampire snoozing in the passenger seat and heard himself say, "He's got a point. It's not like it was attacking humans, it was just surviving."

Dean was silent for a second. _"Dude, who are you and what'd you do with my dad?"_ He was only half-joking.

"I'm still me, Dean. Something just came up that made me rethink a few things."

_"Something? Like what?"_

John felt as if he'd painted himself into a corner. "Well, uh... There's this girl..."

Dean's voice instantly switched to lascivious-mode, _"Dad, you old hound. Who'd've thunk you still had it in you."_

"It's not like that," he sighed, "She's just-" What? A friend? "A, uh, student. She wants to learn about hunting."

_"Uh-huh,"_ Dean replied flatly, _"Can I say hi to her?"_

"She's asleep," John winced, then quickly added, "In the passenger seat. We're on the road."

His son laughed at his discomfiture.

"Is Sammy there?" John asked, anxious to change the subject.

_"Nope. Believe it or not, he's on a date."_

"Really? Who's the girl?"

_"Some brunette chick,"_ Dean said carelessly, _"Kim or Kelly, something with a K. They met at the library while Sam was researching the local folklore."_ His tone easily conveyed the wry grin no doubt plastered on his face.

"Well, tell him I said hi."

_"Will do. Have fun 'teaching' your student, now,"_ Dean chuckled, _"Bye, Dad."_

"Bye." He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Terrific, Dean was probably going to tell Sam all about this conversation as well as his speculation on the nature of John's relationship with Nell. Maybe if he'd mentioned she was a vampire...

_Then Dean would _know_ I was possessed._ John groaned in frustration. Maybe it'd be better if he let his boys think it was nothing more than a romantic fling with an ordinary human woman. But the thought of that kind of deception didn't sit well with him.

Despite his perpetual mourning, John hadn't been celibate since Mary's death. There were times when loneliness got the better of him and John tried to ease it in the arms of random women who reminded him a little of what he lost. He told himself as long as Mary remained first in his heart he wasn't betraying her memory. Still, the last time he slept with someone was almost two years ago, before his quest for revenge started to really pick up steam and occupy all his waking thoughts.

John was startled by the realization that Dean hadn't been at all disturbed by the idea of him hooking up with someone. Did his son actually expect him to let Mary go? To move on? Dean and Sam had moved on, now that the family's revenge was satisfied. Sure, they still hunted, but not out of a sense of obligation to their father. Sam had even looked into going back to school, until he and his brother rescued a family from a particularly nasty poltergeist and decided he could accomplish more good doing what they've always done. Sam and Dean hunted because they _wanted_ to, not because they had to. John envied them for their freedom to choose. He'd long ago lost the ability to settle into a normal life. Hunting was all there was for him. Sometimes it was enough, but there were days when John felt hollowed out by the constant drifting.

Maybe having Nell along would help, give some consistency to his life. Either that or she'd drive him insane, but at least he wouldn't be lonely.

Nell shifted restlessly beneath her jacket and let out a loud snort before settling back to her regular buzzing snores. John gave a quiet chuckle. No, he definitely wouldn't be lonely with her around. She was just too entertaining.


	7. Feelin' Groovy

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

* * *

><p>John drove the entire day, pausing only to fill up the pickup's gas tank, grab something to eat, or take a piss break. He tried waking Nell a couple of times in case she wanted to take a turn driving, but she just whined something petulant and went right back to sleep. He let her be after that. By the time they reached their destination it was late evening an John was worn out, which was probably why he was none too gentle when he reached over and jabbed Nell in the side. "Wake up!"<p>

Nell straightened with a jolt, causing her black denim jacket to fall away from her. "Hunh? Whazzat?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her fists like a clumsy two-year-old.

"We're here," John answered gruffly.

"Already?"

John rolled his eyes while the oblivious vampire blinked owlishly through the windshield. The quaint little town of Green, MO was pretty much what she imagined; tree-lined avenues, perfectly tended lawns, picturesque houses all freshly painted and shingled. They drove past a couple of pretty white churches; one Catholic, one Protestant. Nell didn't see that many people, though. Most of them were probably sitting at the dinner table at this time.

"Dude, this place looks like one of those brochures for suburban living," Nell remarked, "How many people live here?"

John referenced the population number he saw on the town's welcome sign, "Four hundred twenty-three. Well, four twenty-_two_ now, I guess."

"Holy shit! This isn't a town, it's a freakin' village! How'd you even find out about this place?"

"Friend of mine who sent me the article lives here," John explained, "Retired Hunter. Runs the local clinic now."

"A doctor Hunter?"

"Doctor Webster, actually," John quipped.

Nell rolled her eyes. "Oh, ha ha." She frowned as a familiar sensation caused her stomach to tighten. "Um, I don't suppose your friend's clinic has a blood bank?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, we're going to the clinic now."

Nell tried not to show her relief. Being stuck in an enclosed vehicle with a healthy human while dealing with the craving wasn't her idea of a good time. Her hyper-sensitive nose picked up the scent of John's blood along with an underlying fragrance that was distinctly his. Not earthy, exactly. Something living; oak-y, maybe? _Woody,_ she thought with a juvenile smirk.

They pulled up in front of a simple brick building with a white shingle hanging over the glass-fronted doors with the words GREEN MEDICAL CLINIC painted in gold letters. As they got out of the truck and approached the clinic an older woman who looked to be in her sixties, her dark gray hair tied back with a silver clasp, opened the door to greet them. John's face split into a broad grin. "Hey, Doc. Lookin' good."

The woman chuckled, "You old flatterer. C'mere and give us a squeeze." She approached him, limping slightly, arms outstretched and it was then that Nell saw her left leg was encased in some kind of supportive brace. John hugged the older woman without hesitation, a lingering embrace that spoke of a long friendship. Nell awkwardly stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets as she watched this affectionate display. When the two of them finally parted John made the introductions. "Nell, this is Doctor Kathleen Webster. Doc, this is Janelle Estrie."

"Glad to meetcha, Nell." Doc smiled and thrust out her hand, which Nell immediately shook.

"Likewise."

Doc gave John a sly look. "So, John, you've decided to take on an apprentice? Or is it something more personal between you two?"

Nell laughed as John, much to her delighted surprise, actually blushed at the older woman's question. Unfortunately, it also increased the blood-scent in the air. Nell's stomach groaned.

"It's just work," John hastened to clarify. Doc's mouth stretched in an indulgent smile. "If you say so."

"Uh, John..." Nell gave him a meaningful look. Thankfully, he caught on quickly.

"Right. Er, you wouldn't happen to still keep a blood bank in the clinic, would you?" he asked the former Hunter.

A puzzled frown creased the space between her eyebrows. "Sure. Why do you ask? There aren't any rituals or charms against mylings involving blood that I know of."

"It's not for that," Nell jumped in, "It's for me."

The old woman's appraising stare was so intense it made Nell squirm. "You're a vampire."

"Yes, ma'am," she said politely, "But don't worry, I'm not a biter." She flashed a grin, careful to keep her fangs retracted even though her gums were starting to itch from the craving.

Doc's eyes narrowed. "Better come with me, then." She led her two guests into the clinic, then indicated that John should wait while she took Nell into a back room. She fished a set of keys from her pocket to unlock the refrigerated cabinet where rows of full bags were stored. "You're lucky we had a drive recently," she said, selecting a pint of A-positive, "Most of it was shipped out with the Red Cross, but there's enough here that I can spare one or two bags."

Nell accepted the pint from her. "Thanks. Um, do I owe you anything, or...?"

Doc shook her head and held up a hand. "You're with John. That's good enough for me."

Nell thanked her again. The doctor headed for the door. "I'll leave you to it. Throw the bag into the container marked 'Biological Waste' when you're done. John and I'll wait for you out in the front."

"Okay." Nell waited until the door closed before opening the bag and sucking down the contents. She grimaced at the blood's cold texture, preferring it much warmer. But she wasn't about to quibble over a free meal. Regardless of temperature, it was enough to satisfy the craving for a few hours. She tossed the empty bag into the bio-waste container and stepped out into the front room where she found both humans sitting beside each other in chairs intended for waiting patients.

While Nell had been busy feeding, Doc shared her concerns with John regarding his choice of travel companion.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" she asked, careful not to come across as condescending.

John shrugged. "She hasn't attacked me or anyone else. The only time she's acted violently was in self-defense."

Doc waved off his defensive response. "I know you wouldn't have her around if she was any kind of threat. I'm talking about other Hunters. You and I both know most of 'em won't give a vampire the benefit of the doubt, and they're bound to see you as a traitor for this. Some of them might even try to kill you along with your vampire friend."

"Like Gordon Walker," John muttered sardonically. He'd met the guy a few years ago and teamed with him briefly on a hunt. Walker was a borderline psychopath; he didn't care how many bystanders got hurt or killed, so long as he succeeded in destroying his target in the process. After that disastrous partnership, John vowed never to get involved with the vicious bastard again.

Doc nodded, her concern obvious. "I'd suggest you keep her nature a secret, for both your sakes."

John reached over and squeezed her hand in reassurance. "I will. I only told you because Nell needed blood and I knew we could trust you."

The old woman smiled. "She seems friendly enough."

"She's...definitely not boring." The two old friends chuckled.

It was then that Nell stepped out from the back room. She self-consciously popped a breath mint she got from a roll she found in one of her pockets. "So, what now?" she asked.

Doc stood and picked up a sheet of paper she'd left on the counter. "This is a list of all the recent births in town, including single mothers and teens."

She handed it to John. Nell stepped closer to peer over his shoulder. The list barely took up a third of the page. Three of the names had Xs beside them and one was underlined. When asked about them, Doc explained, "The three with an X beside their name gave up their babies for adoption, though for all we know one of them could be lying to cover up abandoning the infant out in the woods."

"And the underlined name?" John asked.

The older woman pursed her lips. "Agnes Olsen is...an unusual case. So unusual I think she might be the one to focus on."

"Why?" asked Nell, "What's so unusual about her?"

Doc sighed. "She's a nun."

Even John was startled by this revelation. "A _nun?_"

"Dude!" Nell's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, and before you ask, she wouldn't tell me who the father was."

Nell smirked. "Maybe the 'father' was the father, y'know?"

"I find that highly doubtful," Doc said, "Never mind that Father Matthew's almost eighty, people here have known him all their lives and there's never been a whiff of scandal."

"Neither of which is enough to let him off the hook," John muttered, clearly unhappy with this situation.

"Does it matter who the father was?" Nell asked, "I mean, all we really need to know is where the mom left the kid's remains, right?"

Doc nodded. "Sister Agnes kept her pregnancy a secret for as long as she could, which wasn't that tough since the habit she wears is very loose. When she went into labor she called me and I helped deliver the baby at her home."

"A doctor that still makes house calls," Nell remarked, "Imagine that."

"What happened then?" John prompted.

"She begged me not to tell anyone. Said the child's father had arranged an adoption out of state. The next day, the baby was gone. This was almost a month ago." She sighed sadly. "I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. The only reason I'm telling you this now is because of Miranda Paulsen's death."

John gazed at her in sympathy. "You knew her."

"It's a small town, John. I know everyone here." Doc's expression hardened. "If I weren't so old and broken I'd go after this damn thing myself. I called you here because I trust you to take care of it. I don't want anymore deaths in my town."

"We'll take care of it," John promised.

* * *

><p>"So, are we gonna go visit the sister?" Nell asked. The two of them were once again in the pickup, coasting along the all but empty main street.<p>

John shook his head. "It's kind of late for unexpected visitors, plus mylings are active at night."

"And you wanna make sure nobody else gets the piggyback ride from hell."

"Right."

Following Doc's directions, they found their way to the town's little cemetery on the outskirts. In the distance, across a flat glen, stood the dark silhouette of the woods where the lost infant's remains no doubt lay. John grabbed a couple of shotguns from the back of his truck and loaded them, passing one to a startled Nell.

"We gonna hit this thing with buckshot?"

"Rock salt," he replied, "It repels both demons and spirits. Hopefully, that goes for mylings as well."

"And if it doesn't?"

John sighed. "If it's already riding someone, we'll do our best to help them carry the load into the cemetery."

"But you're hoping it'll come after one of us instead," Nell smirked.

John nodded and indicated two opposite directions with a swing of his shotgun. "We'll separate, circle around the cemetery's perimeter in a widening spiral till we reach the edge of the woods. This thing's more likely to attack one of us if we're on our own instead of together."

Nell sighed, resting her weapon against her shoulder. "Such an exciting life Hunters lead." She picked her direction and headed off.

The next several hours were spent patrolling in ever-widening circles. When they finally met at the treeline, they had yet to see anything more than the scuttle of small nocturnal creatures running away from them.

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Nell ventured, "I mean, maybe this thing jumps people while they're taking a shortcut through the woods." She pointed at the forbidding darkness ahead of them.

"I'm not willing to go in there till we know where the kid's remains are," John said. Nell wasn't about to argue the point; those woods were spooky.

Satisfied that there wouldn't be any other victims this night, at least, the two of them returned to the truck and headed back into town. Doc had booked them a couple of rooms at the town's only bed and breakfast, which was run by a pleasant middle-aged couple by the name of Hendricks. Nell was grateful to have a bed of her own and by the lack of frilly doilies to offend the eye. The long, boring night of constant walking left her rather tired, so she went to bed at what she considered a pretty early time. She'd need the rest anyway, since she and John were going to pay the nun a visit in the morning. Nell grimaced at the thought of having to venture out in the daylight yet again, but that was a small price to pay for being a Hunter.

In his own room, John dumped his overnight bag onto the easy chair, kicked off his shoes, and sprawled in the comfortable single bed, not even bothering to switch on a light. It had been a long day for him, driving through the entire day and walking around for much of the night. He wasn't as young as he used to be; he was exhausted. Within minutes sleep overtook him.

He dreamt of Mary again, but this time it was a happy dream from when they were both young. Speeding down a country road in his newly bought Impala, the windows rolled down so Mary's long blonde hair whipped in the strong wind, both of them laughing from the sheer exhilaration of being together. They turned off and followed a simple trail down to a crystal-clear pond that reflected the perfect blue sky overhead like a mirror. They spread a flannel blanket under a tree and made love on it; their first time. In the dream John clung to Mary tightly afterwards, knowing he would soon have to wake and lose her all over again. He tried to memorize every detail of her: the smell of her hair, the pattern of freckles on her shoulder, the feel of her sun-warmed skin.

The sun. Christ, it was so bright. He blinked his eyes and suddenly the pond, the blanket, Mary, all were gone, replaced by an anonymous room. He'd neglected to shut the curtains last night and the morning sunlight blazed through the window straight onto him. John groaned and rubbed his eyes, feeling moisture and telling himself his eyes watered because the light hurt them.

He rolled out of bed, changed clothes, then left the room with his toiletries bag under his arm and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. There he brushed his teeth and decided it was time to shave off the beard he'd allowed to grow the last few days. A short while later, feeling more human, he went downstairs to the welcome smells of breakfast. A smiling Mrs. Hendricks had prepared a veritable banquet for her guests, which included a young couple on their honeymoon and a traveling businessman. John opted against eating with them at the large dining table, asking instead if he could take his and Nell's breakfasts upstairs. Mrs. Hendricks was kind enough to load a tray for him and he managed to carry it upstairs without spilling or dropping anything.

Once he reached Nell's door, he carefully balanced the tray on one arm so he could knock with his free hand. "Nell? You better be up or I'm eating all this by myself."

He heard the muffled sounds of grumbling, movement, a thud and a tired curse, then the door swung open and he was greeted by the sight of a bleary-eyed vampire, her long blonde hair a mass of stringy tangles.

"I hate mornings," she groused, "And I hate you."

John held up the overloaded tray. "I brought you an omelet."

Nell blinked, then uttered a grunt and stepped back. John entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Nell maneuvered a small table over to the bedside and seated herself on the edge of the bed. John set the tray on the table, then dragged a chair over only to discover Nell was already starting without him. She stuffed forkfuls of omelet into her mouth with one hand while the other poured a cup of coffee from the small pot that was included. There were also two small bowls of sliced peaches, apples, and strawberries and a rack of toast with little bowls of butter and different flavors of jam or jelly. John honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything this good.

Nell seemed to liven up a little with a full stomach. As soon as nothing remained but crumbs, she leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction and gazed at John more alertly than before. "This was great," she said, "but there's still the matter of my _other_ breakfast." She smiled ruefully.

"We'll stop by the clinic in a few minutes," John assured her, "Then we'll go see Sister Agnes."

Nell snorted. "Talk about awkward. How're we gonna ask her about a baby nobody's supposed to know she had?"

"Easy. We'll tell her we're with the adoption agency that she gave the baby to."

"Okay, but," she frowned, "if she dumped it out in the woods, won't that tell her right away we're lying?"

John smiled. "Sure, but it'll also tell her the secret's out. She might be scared enough to tell us everything we need to know, just to keep the rest of the town—especially her parishioners—from finding out."

"So now I can add extortion to my list of newly acquired skills," she muttered wryly.

"Whatever gets the job done."

"That the Hunter motto?"

"If we had a motto, sure," he grinned.

"I can see the official badge now," she held her hands up as if framing a movie scene, "The words 'Whatever Gets the Job Done' written in Latin arching over an image of a cross, a wooden stake, and a shotgun loaded with rock salt."

John chuckled in amusement. "Even half awake you're a smartass."

Nell lowered her arms with a grin. "I've had years of practice, cowboy."

A slight frown creased his brow. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Jeez, dude. Doncha know you're not supposed to ask a lady that question?" She cocked an eyebrow, then smirked and relented, "Well, obviously I was in my early twenties when I was turned." She indicated her youthful appearance with a sweep of her hand.

"And when was that?" John pressed, resting his chin in his hands, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that seemed to lift some of the perpetual gloom that hung over him.

Nell smirked and surprised him with a very exact answer. "August 16, 1969, in a little place called Bethel, New York."

John's mouth fell open. Nell laughed at his gobsmacked expression.

"You're shitting me."

She raised a hand as if swearing herself in. "I shit you not."

"Woodstock. You were turned during _Woodstock_," John clarified, incredulous.

"Yep."

"How...?"

Nell looked a little embarrassed. "Well, there were these guys, three dudes and two chicks, riding around in this old Winnebago covered in psychedelic colors, inside and out. I met 'em at the concert after nightfall, hung out with them for a while, smoked a few joints, had a few beers. They were pretty cool. Then they asked if I wanted to drop some acid with 'em. I normally stuck to just plain old marijuana, but I figured, hey, I'm at the biggest outdoor music fest in the world! Why not experiment a little?" She winced at her own foolishness. "It was a helluva experience, lemme tell you. When one dude cut open his wrist and asked if I wanted to drink, I thought it was just part of the trip. I mean, I saw grape Neehi coming out of his arm, for god's sake! So I said sure." She held both hands up in a what're-you-gonna-do gesture.

"And that's how you turned," John concluded, somewhat dazed.

"Yep."

He shook his head. "Hippie vampires."

Nell bit her lip, suppressing a grin. "Yeah."

They stared at each other for a moment, then both burst into hysterical laughter. It went on and on until their faces were red and they held onto their stomachs in pain. When their fit of humor finally ended, they straightened in their seats and wiped the tears from their eyes, catching their breaths.

"Hippie vampires," John repeated, finding it no less ridiculous than the first time he said it.

Nell held up two fingers in the peace sign. "Groovy."

That set them off again.


	8. Interfaith Relations

**A/N:** Here's a nice long chappie to make up for the wait. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

* * *

><p>John parked the truck in the Catholic church's lot, killed the engine, then raised the armrest between the driver and passenger seats, revealing a small storage space more than half filled with identity cards and badges for a variety of professions. He pulled out two cards from the top and handed one to Nell. She scrutinized the official-looking logo in the corner. "'Midwest Adoption Agency'? Does that even exist?"<p>

"Beats me. I made it up."

"And who the hell's Geraldine Mays?"

John gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh, come on!" Nell threw up her hands, "Do I look like a Geraldine to you?"

He eyed the new business suit she was wearing, bought less than an hour ago, complete with long skirt and sensible black heels. Even her sunglasses were no-frills dark lenses set in black wire frames. Her long, wavy blonde hair was tied up in a neat bun and her face was subtly made up. "Right now you do," he said.

Nell abruptly snatched his card away and looked at the name. "Now that just ain't fair. John Robinson? Why d'you get to keep your first name and I don't?"

"Not my fault it's a popular name." He snatched his card back and shoved it into his wallet. Like Nell, he was dressed in a suit, his normally unkempt mop of dark hair sensibly brushed and parted on the side.

Nell smirked. "You look like a school principal."

"And you look like a social worker." He opened the truck's door. "Let's go."

As they approached the church, John found himself glancing at his companion from the corner of his eye. For some reason, the fact that Nell was closer to his own age felt a lot weirder to him than if she was a century, five centuries, hell, a millennium older than him. Maybe it was because being ancient was a lot harder for mortals to grasp, whereas someone in their fifties was expected to look a certain way.

"Willya quit staring?" Nell suddenly spoke, "I already feel ridiculous in this monkey suit."

"You look great," John said, keeping his tone light, "You look...er, professional."

The vampire snorted.

John knocked on the door. A moment later a middle-aged woman in a black wimple answered, weathered features set in a pleasant smile. "May I help you?"

"Good morning, Sister. We're looking for Sister Agnes Olsen. Is she here?"

A slight rise of the eyebrows was the only giveaway to the nun's curiosity. "Yes, she is. Please come in."

The church was small and light on ornamentation, relying on the natural wood paneling and stained glass windows to carry off the ambiance. And as far as Nell was concerned, it worked. The place had a quiet, uplifting feel to it. Even the large crucifix hanging above the altar seemed more serene than morbid.

Nell was startled to see John dip his fingers in the basin of holy water by the door and cross himself. "You're Catholic?" she whispered. John looked at her, didn't answer.

They followed the older nun down the aisle to where a young woman was busy wiping furniture polish on one of the pews. She looked like she was barely in her twenties, with soft, girlish features that instantly gave John a feeling of protectiveness towards her. Like the older nun, the girl was dressed in a black wimple, gray blouse, and plain black skirt. A silver cross hung from her neck on a thin chain, winking in the light each time her body shifted position. She looked up as the older nun called to her. "Yes, Sister Margaret?"

"These two people asked to speak with you." Sister Margaret indicated Nell and John with a gesture.

John said, "We'd like to talk to you somewhere private, if we could."

Puzzled, Agnes looked at Margaret, who nodded. The younger nun set her polishing rag aside and indicated they should follow her. She led them through a door into what appeared to be a small office. "Father Matthew's out right now," she explained, "He wouldn't mind if he use his office while he's away."

John and Nell seated themselves on the office's couch while Agnes pulled up a chair across from them, sitting primly with her knees together and back ramrod straight, hands folded over her knees. "How can I help you?"

John took the lead, "I'm John Robinson, this is Geraldine Mays. We're with Midwest Adoption Agency." He and Nell showed her their fake IDs.

The nun's eyes widened. "I-Is this about my baby? Did something happen to him?"

The Hunters glanced at each other. If her concern was fake, she was a damn good actress. "It's nothing serious," Nell assured her, "We had a computer glitch back at our office that messed up some of the more recent records. We just need to touch base with the biological parents, mostly for medical purposes. You know, better safe than sorry."

"Naturally, this conversation will be strictly confidential," John added.

Agnes smiled in relief. "Yes, of course. I...I understand. What do you need to know?"

The more they talked to her, the less convinced they were that she was the one responsible for the myling's existence. Just because she seemed the most likely culprit didn't necessarily mean her baby was the one. The only thing really suspicious was the fact that she didn't blink at the made-up adoption agency; wouldn't she remember the name of the group she gave her baby up to?

John attempted to weed out the answer, "And what made you choose our agency for your child's adoption?"

"Oh, _I_ didn't," was the nun's shocking reply, "Rodney took care of everything after the baby was born."

John tensed, felt Nell do the same beside him. "The father," he ventured.

Agnes nodded, eyes downcast. Whatever happened between her and this Rodney guy, she was obviously ashamed. "Will you be asking him questions as well?"

"Absolutely. But don't worry, the confidentiality applies to him, too," John smiled, "And, uh, just so I don't mess this up when we see him, how is his last name pronounced again?"

The nun smiled, flashing a pair of dimples that made her look childlike and innocent. "Gunter. People try to say Gunther at first, but there's no _th_."

"Thank you for your time." He and Nell stood, shook her hand, and headed for the door.

"W-wait, please," Sister Agnes reached out and touched John's arm, tentative, "Do you know...the baby, is he with a good family? Is he happy?"

John stared into her brown eyes, saw the guilt and worry, and somehow forced a reassuring smile on his face. "He's very happy, sister."

Agnes nodded, biting her lip while her chin trembled. "Thank you."

They left the church in somber silence. When they got into the truck, instead of starting the engine right away, John pulled out his cell and called Doc. Nell slouched in the passenger seat, her dark sunglasses shielding her eyes.

"Hey, Doc," John said when his friend answered, "I got a question for you. Know anybody by the name of Rodney Gunter?"

A pause while he listened. Nell watched his expression, saw him close his eyes as if in pain. "Thanks. Yeah, I'm fine," he sighed, "I'll tell you about it later. Bye, Doc." He ended the call, put the cellphone away, and started the truck. He spun the wheel with a little more force than necessary, causing the tires to squeal faintly as he pulled into the moderately light traffic.

"So, who is he?" Nell asked, taking in the tense lines of his face.

John pursed his lips. "Y'know that other church a few blocks away?"

She snorted, "Yeah, it's like the only other church in town."

"He's the reverend."

Nell laughed, but not from anything resembling humor. "This is unbe-fucking-lievable! A reverend and a nun have a love-child? That sounds like the beginning of a bad bar joke." She eyed her companion. "You think he lied to the sister and left the baby somewhere to die?"

"I think I'm hating this job the more we find out," he muttered, eyes staring grimly ahead as he steered the truck towards their next destination.

* * *

><p>The Reverend Rodney Gunter was a handsome man in his mid-thirties, clean-shaved and well-groomed, naturally tanned and athletic, with perfect white teeth that he didn't hesitate to flash at the newcomers in a winning smile. Nell thought he looked more like a televangelist than a small-town preacher. She half expected him to slap her forehead and shout "Be healed!" by way of introduction, but instead he stuck with a traditional handshake.<p>

"Hello!" he bellowed cheerfully, "Haven't seen you folks before. Thinkin' of buying a house here? 'Cause if you are, I gotta say you couldn't have picked a better place. Quiet, peaceful, and full of honest, God-fearing folk." He winked.

Nell imagined taking a pair of pliers to that pearly grin of his.

"Actually, my associate and I are here on business," she said, taking the lead this time. She and John showed their fake IDs.

Rodney's sunny expression waned slightly. "Midwest Adoption Agency? Is this about one of my parishioners?"

"No, Reverend, it's about you," Nell smiled, the picture of polite friendliness, "And Sister Agnes."

Beneath his impeccable tan, Rodney visibly paled. "What...What about me and Sister Agnes?"

John answered, "The two of you gave a baby up for adoption. Right, Reverend?" His own smile was anything but friendly.

Rodney licked his lips, glanced around for possible eavesdroppers. "Er, maybe we should take this conversation to my office."

"Great idea!" Nell waved a hand towards the church, "Lead the way."

The church's interior was somewhat brighter than the Catholic church. Instead of wood paneling, the walls were decorated with a series of murals depicting the life of Jesus, from his birth in the manger to his crucifixion and later resurrection. Nell and John followed the reverend through a narrow door partially hidden in the space behind the altar. Rodney's office was a bit smaller than Father Matthew's, leaving just enough room for a narrow desk and two extra chairs, which John and Nell promptly seated themselves in without invitation. Rodney lowered himself into the comfortable executive chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers, gazing pensively at his guests. "Did Agnes send you?"

Nell shook her head. "No. She still believes her baby's alive and well with his new parents." She took off her shades. Her green eyes bored into the man across from her. "But we all know that ain't true, don't we?"

Rodney's expression hardened. "Are you cops?"

"No, and we're not wired, either."

"Then what is it you want? Money?" He lowered his hands and leaned over his desk, a businessman making a proposal. "I have a trust fund left to me by my parents. I can pay you whatever you want. All you have to do is leave and never tell anyone what it is you...suspect."

Nell's lip curled a brief instant before she managed to school her features. "We need to know what you did with the baby. Where is it?"

The reverend smirked. "Why on God's green earth would I be fool enough to tell you something that could, if true, put me in prison for the rest of my life?"

Before Nell could respond John suddenly stood and reached across the desk, clamping a powerful hand around the man's throat, his other hand drawing a gun he'd kept hidden beneath his business jacket and pressing the barrel under the reverend's chin. Rodney choked in surprise, eyes bugging in alarm as he was forced to rise from his chair.

Nell took in the scene with raised eyebrows. "Guess this means the polite questioning's over."

"I have zero patience for assholes who murder their own children," John stated, deadly calm.

Rodney wheezed through the vise-like grip on his throat, "I didn't kill it."

"No," John agreed, "You just left him where the animals could do your dirty work for you. Didn't you?"

The look in Rodney's eyes was all the answer they needed.

"Look," Nell sighed, tucking her hands in her pockets, "this is gonna happen one of two ways. Either you cooperate and come out of this in one piece, or I pop my _Reservoir Dogs_ soundtrack in the CD player and we start cutting body parts off you. Either way, you'll tell us what we wanna know."

The reverend's eyes swiveled back and forth between his two antagonists. "You're both out of your minds."

Nell brought out a pocketknife, unfolding the blade with a flick of her wrist. She hummed a few bars of "Stuck In the Middle With You" while testing the knife's edge with her thumb.

"I'll cooperate!" Rodney blurted, "I'll tell you where I left it!"

"You'll _show_ us," John corrected. He released his grip, keeping the gun pointed at the gasping man. He tossed the keys to the pickup to Nell. "You drive while I keep this piece of shit covered."

"Oh, joy." She put her shades on and headed for the door, spinning the keyring around her finger as she went. The two men trailed after her, John behind Rodney, the gun hidden inside his coat pocket and pressed to the small of Rodney's back.

Wedged between them in the truck's cab, the reverend tried to justify himself on the way to the woods on the outskirts of town. "You have to understand, people look to me as an example of all that's moral and decent."

"Bang up job so far, dude," Nell muttered.

"I'm not proud of what happened between me and Sister Agnes," he continued solemnly, "It was a moment's weakness. I may be a man of God, but I am still a man. My faith wavered under that little harlot's spell-"

Nell laughed. "Seriously? People still use the word _harlot?_"

"Even if you're telling the truth and Sister Agnes seduced you," John said, his sour expression revealing that he didn't believe it for one second, "that doesn't excuse what you did to that baby."

"I couldn't let anyone find out," Rodney explained desperately, "I have a wife and daughter. My reputation-"

"You could've taken the kid to another town and left him at a police station or fire department! You could've said you found him abandoned!"

"I couldn't take the risk!"

John snarled in disgust. "You fucking coward. Half the things I end up hunting were caused by people like you. An innocent girl died because of what you did."

Rodney stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I see trees up ahead," Nell interrupted, "We're almost there." A few minutes later she brought the truck to a stop in a clear spot a few yards away from the treeline. John dragged Rodney out of the truck while Nell went around to the back to grab a bag of salt and a plastic bottle of lighter fluid. She also took the opportunity to exchange her heels for a pair of sneakers. _Too bad I didn't get a chance to change outta this lousy skirt,_ she thought with regret.

"Okay, Rev," John said with a gesture from his gun, "Lead the way."

They tromped through the wilderness for what felt like hours. John's already thin patience was soon at the breaking point. "Quit stalling and show us where you left him!"

"I'm trying to remember!" Rodney snapped, his mood somewhere between terrified and angry, "It all looks the same out here. And it's not as if I had a planned route."

"No, you just dumped him like garbage and left," was Nell's sardonic retort.

Rodney glared, not a trace of guilt in his expression. Something cracked beneath his shoe and he glanced down. He paled. "I...I found something."

The others hurried over and stared at what lay beneath his upraised foot; a tiny, partially crushed ribcage. Further scrutiny revealed more bones scattered over the immediate area, most likely thanks to scavengers. John made Rodney collect as many as he could find and put them in a small pile on a patch of ground Nell cleared of dead leaves and undergrowth. Fingers and toes were gone forever, as was one of the arms. The infant's skull, not even fully formed, was the last to be found.

Nell gazed at the pitiful remains and felt a surge of anguish for the innocent whose life ended so cruelly. Then she looked at Rodney and her anguish turned into a smoldering rage. "You didn't even have the decency to bury him."

"I-It wasn't dead," he stammered, "I...I couldn't..."

"Shut your pathetic mouth," John snarled, grip tightening on his gun, "Not another word from you."

The reverend wisely kept quiet.

"So, how do I do this?" Nell asked.

"Pour the salt over the bones, then the lighter fluid, then light it," John told her.

She frowned. "That's it? No incantations or weird symbols?"

"No, it's pretty straightforward."

Nell was obscurely disappointed by this. Without a word, she opened the bag of rock salt and sprinkled it over the infant's remains. She then popped the cap on the plastic bottle and prepared to dump the contents when a force like a cannonball sent her sprawling. Inhuman shrieks rent the air and something small and terribly strong clawed at her. "Shit! Get it off me!"

She fought back, but it seemed the harder she tried to throw her attacker off, the bigger and heavier it became. Within seconds it was as tall as her and what felt like ten times as heavy, neither of which made a difference in the speed or viciousness of its attack. It battered her with fists like stone clubs, causing blood to fly and bones to crack.

John fired round after round from his gun, every bullet finding its mark. But the only thing they accomplished was to create little clouds of dust and draw the creature's attention towards him. In spite of all his experiences, all the monsters he'd seen throughout the years he spent as a Hunter, John was still taken aback by what he saw. Atop a grotesquely swollen body, the myling still possessed the face of the innocent newborn it once was. Its soft features twisted into a grimace of hate, an ear-splitting screech erupting from its mouth. It leapt at him, fists raised.

_"No!"_ Nell cried, somehow finding the strength to gather herself up and jump onto the creature's broad back. She wrapped her arms around its neck and yanked back hard, causing it to stagger. The myling roared and flung the battered vampire off. John tried to step in, but a backhand from the creature sent him crashing into a stand of bushes several yards away.

Throughout this brutal fight, the reverend stood agape, too shocked to even think of running. Until the myling turned its attention to him. Rodney stumbled back, his mind searching desperately for a prayer. Surely this thing was a demon sent from Hell. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't dredge up a single prayer. All that came out of his mouth was a gabble of "please Gods" and "sweet Jesuses." The myling bared its toothless gums at him and Rodney panicked. He spun and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The myling shrieked and lumbered in pursuit, both of them vanishing into the woods.

John disentangled himself from the bushes and staggered over to Nell's motionless form. Blood trickled from a gash over his left eyebrow. He wiped it on his sleeve without a thought. Kneeling, he tentatively reached down and turned Nell onto her back. Her blonde hair had come loose from its bun, long tendrils matted with leaves and blood. Her green eyes were open and painfully alert. Her breath rattled, a sign of a punctured lung.

"You'll be okay," John said and instantly felt like an idiot. As if the fact that she would heal mattered at this moment; she had to be in agony from her wounds. "Sorry," he brushed a strand of hair from her mouth, "I'm sorry."

"Go-" she coughed, spattering blood on her lips, "Go after it. Make sure it works when I burn the bones."

John shook his head. "You don't have to do anything. I'll take care of it."

"No. You gotta _see_ if this works." Determined, she took hold of his shoulder. "Help me over."

He wanted to argue, but there was no time, and he knew it'd be futile anyway. He half-carried her over to the infant's remains. Nell's right arm dangled uselessly. John could practically hear the fractured bones scraping against each other, yet she barely whimpered from the pain. He set her down, picked up the plastic bottle, and emptied it over the salted bones. Nell pulled a lighter out of her pocket and held it at the ready.

The myling's cries could still be heard in the distance.

"Count to thirty before you set the fire," John instructed, "That oughta give me enough time to catch up and see if it works."

"Be careful," Nell rasped.

John smirked. "Little late for that, doncha think?"

In spite of the situation, the vampire mustered a weak smile. John turned and ran in the direction Rodney and the myling went moments before. It wasn't long before he caught up to them. The myling stood over the crumpled form of the reverend. At the sight of John, it reared up and stomped towards him. The monster had grown even larger, towering so far above John he had to crane his neck to see its horribly sweet face. Its footfalls caused the ground to vibrate.

"Twenty-eight," John whispered under his breath, "Twenty-nine."

Back in the clearing, Nell touched the lighter's flame to the fuel-drenched bones.

The myling's howls transformed into a newborn's cries as its huge body was engulfed in flames and blew away in a flurry of embers.

John let his breath out in a rush. He walked over to where Rodney lay, twisted and broken. He didn't bother trying to find a pulse; the body, like the man's soul, was beyond redemption. He turned his back on the dead man and went back to where he left Nell. He scooped the injured vampire up in his arms, carried her back towards the waiting truck.

"Did it work?" she asked in a small voice.

He nodded. "It worked."

"What about Rodney?"

"Dead."

She didn't seem all that broken up about it.

After a few minutes John noticed she was trembling. Did vampires go into shock when they were hurt?

"You're bleeding," she whispered. John remembered the gash on his forehead and suddenly recalled that a vampire's need for blood increased when seriously injured.

"We'll get you to the clinic soon," he tried to reassure her.

Nell's breathing grew even more ragged. "Please put me down," she rasped, even as her uninjured arm clung to him, "Put me down."

He could feel her breath against his neck. "We're almost at the truck."

"Please stop." Her words came out in a sob.

John slowed, looked around until he saw a nearby tree with a broad trunk. He walked over to it and slowly lowered himself into a sitting position at its base, back leaning against the truck, Nell resting across his lap. She tried to squirm away, but he held her to his chest.

"It's okay," he said. He used his teeth to pull down his left sleeve, exposing his wrist.

"What're you doing?" Nell asked, already knowing the answer.

John held his wrist in front of her. "You need blood."

"I can wait."

"Don't be stupid. You're just making yourself suffer longer than you have to."

Nell's gums itched so bad they felt like they were full of burrowing insects. Still she fought against her vampiric teeth descending. "I could wind up taking too much."

"Even if you do," John reasoned, "one vampire can't take enough to kill me."

She wanted to protest further, but couldn't think of anything else to say. Her head swam with the scent of him, of the warm blood in him. She opened her mouth, exposing rows of needle-sharp teeth. Her head lunged forward and she sank her fangs into the flesh of his arm. John grunted in pain. Instantly, Nell's mouth was flooded with salt and metal and heat. His blood tasted better than she imagined, hot and alive with that same oak-y undertone she scented on him. She sucked and swallowed, slurping it down like mother's milk, feeling herself get stronger with each passing second. Her bruises faded, cuts and abrasions closed, broken bones knitted.

John felt himself getting lightheaded, whether from the blood-loss or just the thought of it, he wasn't sure. "Nell."

A low sound in the back of her throat, a growl.

"Nell, enough." He tried to pull his arm away. Nell held on, mouth clamped firmly to it. Slowly, her sharp teeth withdrew, leaving pinpoint wounds that bled profusely until she licked with the flat of her tongue. Her unique saliva acted as a coagulant, sealing the wounds until they were hardly noticeable. In a day or two, they would fade completely.

Nell met John's tired gaze with her own. "Thanks."

John nodded. Neither of them moved for a while. They needed to rest and regain a little more strength before attempting to return to the pickup.

"What do we do about the rev's body?" Nell asked a few minutes later.

"We'll tell Doc about it. I'm pretty sure she'll say to leave it where it is. Guy like Rodney, a 'pillar of the community,'" he smiled sardonically, "People will notice he's missing. They'll find him soon enough."

"And Agnes gets to keep believing her baby's alive."

John nodded solemnly, thinking of the poor creature who's misery they ended and the justice it inflicted on its father before it went.


	9. It's Complicated

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>Once John was rested enough to trust himself to drive, he and Nell stopped by the clinic to debrief Doc about what happened. The older woman took in their battered condition and asked if they needed anything. They declined.<p>

"You sure?" she prompted, eying Nell, who, even though she was mostly healed, still looked as if she'd been put through a wringer. "I know vampires need to feed more when they've been hurt."

Nell averted her eyes. "I'm fine."

Doc looked at her, looked at John, who gazed levelly back at her. The old woman pursed her lips in displeasure. "Could I talk to you for a sec, John? In private."

"You can say whatever you have to in front of Nell."

"No, it's okay," the vampire interjected before Doc could argue, "I'm not up for anymore drama today. I'll wait in the truck." She took a step forward and held her hand out to the doctor. "Nice meeting you."

Doc shook hands, her smile friendly, but distant. "Likewise."

Nell turned and left the clinic without another word. As soon as the door closed behind her Doc turned to John with a grim expression. "Show me where she bit you."

John didn't insult his friend's intelligence by pretending not to know what she was talking about. He rolled up his sleeve and showed her the bite on his wrist. She stared at the tooth marks with a critical eye, prodded the edges of the wounds with the tip of her finger. "Almost no swelling," she remarked, "If I didn't know better, I'd swear this was days old."

"Something in her saliva," John said, "It explains how vampires can feed off victims for days at a time without them bleeding to death right away."

Doc released his arm and fixed him with a stern look. "You were pushing your luck, letting her feed from you like that. You probably made it harder for her to deny her predatory instincts."

John frowned. "You didn't see what that myling did to her. She was beaten all to hell. If she'd been human, she would've been dying."

"But she's _not_ human," Doc argued, "However bad off she was, she could've waited till you brought her here."

"You weren't there," John snapped, "If you'd seen how much pain she was in and knew you could help her, you would've done the same thing."

Doc shook her head in frustration. "You've always been way too cavalier when it came to your own life. That attitude's cost you more than a few friends over the years, John. It's too damn hard to watch someone I care about act as self-destructive as you."

John turned away with an angry scoff and headed for the door.

"You need to figure out how to move on, John," she called after him, "For your boys' sake, if nothing else."

He paused, one hand on the doorknob, and looked back at her over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Doc."

The old woman sighed. "Goodbye, John."

Out in the pickup, Nell slumped so low in the passenger seat only the top of her head could be seen through the window. She turned her head slightly as John got in on the driver's side. "You okay?"

"Fantastic," he grumbled. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I gotta get something to eat, then we can head out."

"We're not gonna get some sleep first?"

"You can sleep while I drive."

Nell shrugged. "'Kay."

John got himself a burger at a McDonald's drive-thru and ate it on the way back to the B&B. They packed their bags and left town quickly after that, eager to put the whole incident behind them.

Nell draped her jacket over her head to blot out the afternoon sun. John thought she was asleep until her muffled voice asked, "So, where to now?"

"I don't have any plans at the moment," he sighed.

"I'm all for taking some time off."

John smirked. "You've only done two jobs so far."

"Yeah, and they both kicked my ass." Nell shifted to a more comfortable position. "How the hell can you keep doing this shit year after year?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

They drove in silence after that, aside from Nell's snores a few minutes later. As evening set in, John kept his eyes peeled for the next motel. The place he chose wound up being an Econolodge. Unfortunately, due to a highly anticipated college football game in the next town, there was only one room available. But at least it had separate beds. The two of them trudged into the room, still tired and sore from their ordeal. John dropped his duffel at the foot of the nearer bed and flopped down on top of the covers without bothering to kick off his shoes. He threw an arm over his eyes to block the light, heaved an exhausted sigh.

Nell stood over him, shifting from foot to foot uncertainly. "Um, John?"

"Yeah?" he muttered.

"About what happened..."

Something in her tone told him she wasn't talking about the fight with the myling, but after. He sighed and removed his arm from over his eyes, sat up with a groan and looked at her.

Nell took a breath and continued, "I don't want you thinking I've got these self-esteem issues about being what I am, 'cause I don't. It's just... I got so used to you treating me like a normal human being, I was afraid that, uh, letting you talk me into feeding from you like I did...you might start looking at me...different." She swallowed. "I don't want you looking at me like I'm not a person anymore," she finished awkwardly.

A smile of understanding crossed John's tired features. "What happened back there didn't change the way I see you," he told her, "I'm always gonna think of you as an annoying woman with a weird dietary requirement."

Nell snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not annoying. I'm charmingly quirky."

John lay back down. "Keep telling yourself that. Turn off the light, will ya?"

Nell flicked the light switch off, then set about unpacking her bag, careful not to disturb the dozing man. When she was finished, she toed her shoes off and lay down on the second bed. Her body still needed rest to finish healing. She stared at John's motionless figure across the room, glad she'd gotten her worries off her chest. A few minutes later she closed her eyes and was soon asleep as well.

* * *

><p>When his cellphone woke him a few hours later, John didn't remember what he might have dreamt. He dug the phone out of his pocket, hit send, and pressed it to his ear, all while still lying down. "Yeah?"<p>

_"Hey, Dad,"_ Dean's all too cheery voice blared from the receiver, _"You on a hunt right now?"_

"Just finished one. Why?"

_"Where are you at?"_

"Missouri. Why?" he repeated, suspicious.

_"Well, Sammy and I are headed for the Roadhouse and we thought you'd might wanna meet us there. You could, uh, bring your new 'apprentice' along,"_ he added casually.

"Don't think I didn't hear those quotation marks you put on the word 'apprentice,' you smartass," John retorted.

_"Don't change the subject. You comin' or not?"_

John glanced over at the other bed, saw Nell lying on her side with her eyes open, watching him. He could tell because her eyes were glowing in that unnatural way no human eyes could. That'd be a hell of a move, taking a vampire to a bar frequented by Hunters. "Might not be such a good idea, son."

He heard Dean's puzzlement, _"Why not?"_

"It's, er, kinda complicated."

A pause, then, _"Look, if you don't wanna come, you can just say so."_

John winced at the disappointment in his son's voice. "I'll think about it, alright?"

_"'Kay,"_ Dean answered, still subdued, _"We'll be at the Roadhouse tomorrow and stick around a couple of days. You can show up or not, no pressure or anything."_

"Okay. Bye, Dean."

_"Bye, Dad."_

John tossed his phone onto the nightstand, sat up and ran his hands over his face with a sigh.

"What was that all about?" Nell asked, sitting up with her legs crossed Indian-style.

John filled her in on the conversation with his son. When he was done, Nell frowned and said, "So, what's the big deal? It's not like I've got 'vampire' tattooed on my forehead."

"There are still signs experienced Hunters know to look for," John argued.

"Yeah, but they're not gonna be looking for those signs in the one place they know something like me would never show up in a million years," she reasoned, "When you think about it, it's the perfect place for me to go incognito. Besides, I'd like to meet your kids. I'm curious to see what kinda parents Hunters are."

John seemed less than thrilled at the prospect. "Maybe we could arrange to meet them somewhere else. Later."

Nell scrutinized him for a long moment, then shrugged. "I get it. It's cool. You don't want 'em to meet me, that's fine." She didn't even say it in that passive-aggressive way women tended to do to guilt people into doing what they wanted; she really seemed to mean it. Which, of course, only made John feel even more guilty. Damn her honesty.

"Okay, we'll go," he snapped.

Nell smirked. "You sure. I wouldn't want you to think I'm pressuring you."

"Oh, shut up." He got out of bed and stomped over to the bathroom. He needed a shower before they hit the road again.

While the hot water cascaded over his sore body, John heard Nell call out from the other room, telling him she was going out for a while. He knew that meant she was going to find someone to sell her a pint of blood. He let her know he heard and a moment later there was the faint sound of the motel room door shutting.

John stood under the showerhead, letting the heat ease the aches from his muscles. The voice of Danny Glover from the _Lethal Weapon_ movies rang in his ears: "I'm gettin' too old for this shit." John chuckled to himself.

He stared at the bite on his wrist, faded to the point that he had to squint to make out the marks left by Nell's fangs. That vampire saliva was impressive. Medical science would doubtless pay a fortune to patent the stuff, he mused. It was strange, but the experience of letting her feed on his blood hadn't bothered him at all. There was something weirdly intimate in giving a part of himself to another person; knowing it was what she needed, that it eased her suffering. John wasn't entirely honest when he told Nell that nothing had changed between them. Something _had_ changed; he just wasn't sure what it was.

Nell returned just as he finished dressing. She took in the way his damp hair stuck up in messy spikes and thought how boyishly cute he looked. She held up a plastic bag. "Hungry? I got us a couple of sandwiches from the deli next door."

John smiled, his dimples reinforcing his boyish appearance. "I could eat."

They sat across from each other at the room's small table, eating roast beef and drinking Cokes. They didn't talk, but it was a comfortable silence. Once they were done and had everything put away or packed up, they checked out of their room and set out for Nebraska.

* * *

><p>HARVELLE'S ROADHOUSE<p>

The name stood out in bright neon letters on what was otherwise a nondescript clapboard building (the word "shack" sprang to Nell's mind). Despite the bar's rundown appearance, it was obviously doing brisk business. The fact that most of the customers were Hunters probably had something to do with it. John told her it was a popular place for the scattered subculture to meet, exchange information on various supernatural creatures and methods for disposing of them, and basically relax between hunts. Nell discovered it wasn't that hard to tell Hunter from ordinary trucker. Maybe spending time in John's company taught her the subtle cues to look for. There was a hard look to the Hunters' eyes, even when they were laughing and joking with friends; a look that spoke volumes about the things they'd witnessed that everyday people couldn't hope to deal with, let alone believe.

John explained that many Hunters came into this lifestyle after a tragic brush with the supernatural destroyed their normal lives and how they viewed the world, while others inherited the role from one or both parents, like John's sons. There were Hunters who claimed to be third, fourth, fifth generation; men and women whose ancestors stretched back to the earliest American colonies.

One such person who could make this claim was Ellen Harvelle, owner and manager of the establishment. By Hunter standards, she was the closest thing they had to royalty - not that she acted the least bit stuck-up about it. She was a woman who was greatly respected, and in the roadhouse her word was law. Her late husband had been much the same, a legend among legends who tragically died before his time. The pain of his loss was what motivated Ellen to retire from active hunting and to try and shelter her only daughter, Jo, from the life. Unfortunately, her daughter had inherited her stubborn streak and recently struck out on her own to become a hunter like her parents. She was keeping her mother up nights wondering what kind of danger she was in.

As soon as they stepped through the doors, Nell saw John grow more and more uncomfortable. At first she thought it was because of her, but then she noticed the way his eyes were drawn towards Ellen. She glimpsed sadness and remorse in his expression before he managed to get his features under control. A bad history there. Nell wondered about it, but knew better than to ask. Some things were too personal to talk about.

A couple of young men seated at the bar waved. "Dad! Over here!"

John's face relaxed into a warm smile and he headed towards them, Nell trailing slightly behind him. She could definitely see the family resemblance, especially in the younger son. Tall and dark-haired, he even had the same dimples when he smiled. The older son was fairer colored, his features a bit more softened; Nell bet he took after his mother in the looks department.

John kept the introductions brief, "Dean, Sammy, I'd like you to meet Nell."

"Hey," Sam greeted her with a friendly grin and shook hands.

Dean gave his father a sly look. "Jeez, Dad, you're robbing the cradle here!"

"She's not my girlfriend, Dean," John replied with a touch of exasperation, "I'm just showing her the ropes."

"I bet you are." Dean winked. His brother rolled his eyes. Nell laughed.

"Not that it matters, since I'm really not his girlfriend," she said, "but I'm older than I look."

"Well, you're a hottie however old you are." Dean flashed his most charming grin. Nell had him pegged right away as an experienced player. He knew just how far to take his flirting without becoming sleazy.

"You flatterer," she teased, "If you weren't my boss's kid I'd totally jump you."

John abruptly called out to a passing waitress, "Could we get a couple of beers over here?"

Nell exchanged wry looks with the boys, all of them knowing how uncomfortable he was with the situation and finding no end to the resulting amusement.

"What's say we get a table," Sam suggested once the drinks arrived. They left the bar and were lucky to find an unoccupied booth. Nell and John took one bench while Sam and Dean took the other across from them. Nell was glad for the dim lighting; less chance of someone spotting her eye shine that way. Even if nobody was looking for it, why tempt fate with carelessness?

They talked for hours, occasionally buying another round. Nell was interested in the family's dynamic, the relationships between John and Dean, John and Sam, and Sam and Dean. There was love and loyalty, but also signs of conflict, particularly between John and his youngest. But whatever differences they might've had in the past, they set them aside for the sake of togetherness now. Time slipped by and before they knew it, they were pretty much the last ones left in the Roadhouse. The only other people Nell saw were Ellen and a skinny guy with the longest mullet she'd ever seen seated at the bar with his head on the counter.

"Okay, guys," Ellen called out from her spot behind the counter, "I'm locking up for the night. You can let yourselves out or there's extra beds in the back room if you're not okay to drive."

There was a chorus of thanks from the booth. Mullet guy looked like he was already fast asleep. Either that or he was dead. Ellen didn't look all that concerned.

Nell glimpsed the same sad look in John's eyes whenever he gazed in Ellen's direction. She also noticed the way they kept their distance from each other. Something heavy hung in the air between them. Nell found herself wondering what it could be. What kind of relationship did they used to have? Were they just friends, or...

It was then that Nell realized she was jealous. A feeling not unlike dread came over her. She needed to be careful or things would get way too complicated between her and John. Neither of them needed that.

"Hey, earth to Nell!" Dean waved a hand in front of her face, drawing her attention to the fact that he'd been trying to talk to her for quite a while. She jerked her head towards him. "Sorry! Got distracted."

A funny look passed over Dean's face. "What was that?"

Nell frowned. "What was what?"

"Your eyes," he said, his words making her tense, "When you turned around I saw 'em flash."

Nell looked at John, who ran a hand over his face, palm rasping against his days-old beard. "Try to keep it down," he murmured, "We don't want to upset Ellen."

"Dad, what's going on?" Sam asked. His face showed concern, his brother's suspicion.

John sighed. "I wasn't sure how I was going to tell you this, so I guess I'll just come out and say it. Nell's a vampire."

Shock, disbelief, anger; they flickered across their faces one after the other, until they finally settled into amazed curiosity for Sam, sullen resentment for Dean. Frankly, Nell was surprised they didn't both look at her with outright hatred. All their lives they'd been indoctrinated to view creatures like her as evil. But then again, their father learned to view her with an open mind fairly quickly - though saving his life a couple of times probably helped.

"What the hell-" Dean sputtered.

Sam quickly interjected, "You told us you were teaching her to hunt."

"I am," John answered.

"But she's one of the things we hunt!" Dean whispered harshly. At least he kept his voice down, Nell mused.

"I'm not part of a nest," she told him, "I don't attack people. I don't even bite 'em." She thought it best to omit what happened between her and John the other day.

"So, you live off animal blood?" Sam asked.

Nell grimaced. "Hell no. I buy pints off of people, draw it out with needles and tubing like they do in clinics."

"And nobody thinks that's weird?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Of course they do. But for fifty bucks a pint, they're not gonna argue."

Dean leaned over the table, glaring at his dad. "Have you lost it? Never mind she's a damn fang, what happens when other Hunters find out you're cozying up with the enemy?"

"We'll deal with it when it happens," John said.

"For Christ's sake-"

"Cool it, Dean," Sam gripped his brother's shoulder, "This isn't the place to talk about it."

Dean shook his head in disgust. "After everything you taught us, our whole lives. You're nothing but a goddamned hypocrite." He stood and stormed out of the bar without a backward glance.

Sam sighed and gave them an apologetic look. "He needs a little while to calm down."

John nodded, eyes downcast. He didn't look all that convinced.

"We're staying at that hotel down the road," Sam continued, "They still have some vacancies. Why don't you two book a couple of rooms there and we can all talk it out later?"

"Good idea," Nell agreed. She nudged John with her elbow. "Let's go. We're both beat, anyway."

She, John, and Sam got out of the booth and headed for the exit. Out in the mostly empty parking lot, Dean waited for his brother in a classic Chevy Impala. Nell couldn't help but compliment the sweet ride. Sam grinned. "I'll tell Dean you said that. Might help to soften him up."

Nell and John got into the pickup, watched as the Impala backed out of the parking spot and drove off down the road. John waited until the rear lights were distant specks before starting the truck's engine and heading out the way they went.

"That went well," Nell remarked drily.

John grunted. It was obvious his son's displeasure upset him. And why the hell wouldn't it? Nell gazed at him in sympathy. "Look, if things get too strained, I'll understand if you want me to go. Family's gotta come first."

John looked at her sidelong, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Sick of me already?"

Nell rolled her eyes. "No, I'm totally in love with you."

John chuckled.

"It's those dimples," Nell added, grinning, "I can't resist their insidious power."

"They are the key to the Winchesters' success," he agreed, "How d'you think I convinced Mary to be my wife?"

Nell sobered a little. "She gave you two great sons."

"Yeah." John's smile was tinged with sadness. His brown eyes met her green, and in that instant Nell knew she was in serious trouble. Like it or not, things were getting complicated, and there was nothing she could do to stop it now. She wasn't even sure she wanted it to.


	10. The Smart Move

**A/N:** The tattoo I describe on John's arm is loosely based on a real tat that Jeffrey Dean Morgan has; one of several, as a matter of fact. Yet another reason I find him so darn cool. ;-)

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>The hotel wasn't too bad, all things considered. It was relatively clean, the toilets weren't backed up, TVs weren't staticky, and the appliances all worked. The only thing one could take issue with was the desert theme, which would've been fine if they were in Arizona or New Mexico. But they were in <em>Nebraska<em>. The last thing that came to mind in connection with Nebraska was sand and cacti, yet those things featured abundantly in the accommodations' décor, from the cheap desert scene paintings to the faux adobe to the fake Joshua trees molded from cement that flanked each of the hotel rooms' doors.

On the other hand, it was cheap. Hey, beggars can't be choosers.

Dean sat on the bed he claimed as his, propped up against the headboard, eyes riveted to the TV as he flicked from one channel to the next with the remote. His brother sat at the room's little table, ostensibly checking out the web on is laptop, but Dean felt his reproachful stare and studiously ignored him. "Figures we get a place that's only got basic cable," he grumbled.

"So, we're not gonna talk about it?" Sam asked, and he definitely wasn't referring to the lack of premium channels.

"Nope," was Dean's curt reply. His eyebrows rose. "Hey, there's a _Dukes of Hazzard_ rerun on."

Sam, not to be put off, "C'mon, Dean, you have to want to say something. I mean, if _I'm_ freaking out a little about this, then it's gotta be messing with you. Dad spending time with a woman after all these years. It's weird, y'know?"

"She's not a woman," Dean retorted, still staring at the TV, "She's a vampire."

"Whatever, dude."

"No, it's not 'whatever,'" Dean finally turned his head to glare at his brother, "How the hell can you be okay with this?"

Sam shrugged. "What? It's his life. If Nell makes Dad happy-"

"Everything he ever taught us about these things—vampires, demons, malevolent spirits—not once did Dad ever say it was okay to trust any of 'em. And now he's shackin' up with one?" Dean laughed, incredulous. "It doesn't make a damn bit of sense! What, is this like some midlife crisis thing or..."

"We don't know what's going on between him and Nell," Sam answered calmly, "At the very least they're friends, and I don't see what's so bad about that. Just because Nell's supernatural doesn't automatically make her evil. You _know_ that. We've met vampires who'd never hurt anyone-"

"Oh, cut the crap!" Dean flung the remote aside—leaving it dangling from the length of cable tethering it to the side table so it wouldn't get stolen—and got up from the bed. He paced the confines of the room with long, angry strides. "How can Dad do this! How can he disrespect Mom's memory by hooking up with one of the things that killed her?"

Sam shook his head, astonished by his brother's vehemence. "What're you talking about, Dean? We got the thing that killed Mom and it wasn't even a vampire, it was a demon."

"I know that!" Dean snapped.

"And he's not disrespecting Mom's memory. He's moving on, just like we thought he should."

Dean shook his head, lips compressed. "I don't know. Maybe if she was human... I dunno." He sat down on the edge of the bed with a frustrated sigh, elbows resting on his knees, head down. "I know I said Dad oughta move on, but... You don't remember what he was like before Mom died, but I do. Dad was _happy_. And seeing him happy now with somebody else," he raised his gaze to Sam's sympathetic look, "it hurt. It's like she died all over again."

Sam got up, walked over, and sat down beside his brother. His posture mimicked Dean's, their shoulders touched. "You didn't seem all that hurt when you were teasing dad about her," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think it was anything serious." Dean looked at him. "You saw it, though, right? The way he looked at her?"

Sam nodded. "Saw the way she looked at him, too."

"You think they know?"

The younger brother snorted. "Nah. Too obvious."

Dean laughed in spite of himself. "You're right. Dad never notices anything that doesn't have something to do with folklore and hauntings. He'd need a Ouija board to spell it out for him and even then he'd think it was some kinda trickster spirit trying to put one over on him."

The two of them shared a wry chuckle, falling silent a second later.

"Then again," Sam added, thoughtful, "they _are_ sharing a room."

Their eyes met.

* * *

><p>John sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the ring he'd worn so long he barely thought about it anymore. It was as much a part of his hand as the finger it encircled. The last time he recalled really <em>looking<em> at it was the day when he followed his boys back to Lawrence and the psychic woman, Missouri Mosely, told him Mary's spirit had sacrificed herself to save their sons from a poltergeist that had invaded their old house. Finding out that a part of his wife had still lingered all those years, only to lose whatever chance he might have had to reconnect with her, brought the pain of her death rushing to the surface once again. If only he could have seen her one last time and told her he still loved her, told her how much he regretted his failure to protect her that night.

Staring at his wedding ring now, though, he didn't think of pain or regret. He thought about the loneliness that had dominated his life for the last twenty years, and how in the past week it wasn't there anymore. Funny how he didn't even notice its absence until now.

He turned to his duffel bag which lay beside him, rummaged inside until he found what he was looking for. Clutching the small object in his hand, he walked over to the other bed. Somewhere under that mass of blankets was a vampire. Nell had slept through what remained of the night and the entire morning. John figured that was plenty of REM for anyone. Without preamble, he grabbed hold of the covers and yanked them aside, revealing a disheveled Nell clad in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. Her face scrunched up under the room's bright light before she grabbed a pillow and mashed it over her head.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" John smirked.

"Go away," she whined, voice muffled.

John sat on the edge of her bed and nudged her leg. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Nell sighed, tossed the pillow aside, and sat up. The squinty glare she gave him was nothing short of venomous. "This better be important," she growled.

"You can't sleep the whole day away."

"Dude, I'm _supposed_ to sleep the whole day away! These irregular hours are makin' me all screwed up." She ran a tired hand through her tangled blonde curls. "So, what's up?"

Fun though it was to bait her, John decided to cut to the chase. "I wanted you to have something." He held up his hand and let the item he'd gotten out of his bag dangle from its thin silver chain. It was a medallion, no bigger than a fingernail. Curious, Nell reached out to cup it in her palm and stared at its intricate design. The little silver disc was dominated by a pentagram emblem etched with numerous other symbols, some so tiny even her keen eyes had trouble seeing them.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A charm a friend of mine gave me a while back. It's supposed to protect the wearer against demonic possession."

A faint line appeared between her eyebrows. "Um, don't you need it?"

A slightly self-effacing smile appeared on John's face as he rolled up his left sleeve to show her a tattoo on the inside of his forearm, just above the almost completely faded tooth marks where Nell bit him. The tattoo was of an elaborate cross bearing many of the same symbols as the charm. "I stopped wearing it after a while," he explained, "Figured it wasn't worth it since possessions were so rare at the time. So, of course, I wound up getting possessed. Me and my boys almost didn't make it. After that I got this tattoo to make sure it wouldn't happen again."

He let his sleeve drop down to conceal his arm again and held out the charm to her. Nell took it, her expression uncertain. "Can demons even possess vampires?"

John shrugged. "Why take the chance?" His expression sobered. "I don't want you ever going through something like that. Having something inside you, controlling you, making you do things to people you care about... It's worse than rape."

Nell stared at him for a long moment, startled by his candor, then slipped the necklace over her head. She pulled her long hair through and let it spill over her shoulders. With one last look at the charm, she tucked it under her shirt, then smiled up at John. "Thanks. I didn't know you cared."

John grinned. "Well, exorcisms are a real pain in the ass. And you're aggravating enough the way you are."

"I am not!"

Without thinking about it, John reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I guess you're not."

Nell was shocked by the intimacy of the gesture, not to mention her reaction to it. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and prayed she wasn't as flushed as she felt. She tried to cover up her discomfiture by being flippant. "Dude, did we just have a moment?"

John laughed, dimples creasing his bearded cheeks. "Maybe we did."

"Um..." Shit. So much for flippancy.

John glanced away. "Sorry," he cleared his throat, "Didn't mean for this to get awkward." He meant it, too; poking fun at her was one thing, but this situation left him as uncomfortable as Nell obviously was. It was like being in junior high all over again.

A knock at the door saved them from any further embarrassment. John recognized the pattern of raps as one of the safety codes he taught his sons. He got up to answer it while Nell scurried to the bathroom to run a brush through her messy hair.

Dean and Sam entered the room, both with their hands in their pockets. Dean's shoulders were slightly hunched. His posture relaxed a little when he took in the separate beds.

Nell exited the bathroom looking a tad more presentable. She stood slightly apart from the men with her arms crossed over her chest. John shoved his hands into his hip pockets, his gaze level. "Sam. Dean," he said in that cool, all-knowing fatherly voice that compelled many a child throughout history to confess their wrongdoings.

Sam spoke up first. "We had something we wanted to say to you. To both of you," he added, nodding towards both John and Nell. Then he cleared his throat and said, "And by 'we' I mean Dean."

His brother gave him a dirty look. "Gee, thanks for the support," he muttered.

"You're the one who acted like an ass earlier," Sam murmured in response.

Dean sighed, squared his shoulders. "I'm...sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have talked to you like that." He turned to Nell. "And I'm sorry for acting up like that when I found out you were...uh, y'know..."

Nell cocked an eyebrow. "A fang?"

Dean winced. "Yeah. Sorry for calling you that, too."

She shrugged, smiled. "It's okay. I've been called worse. Shocking, I know." This last remark was directed towards John, whose stern features held just a touch of amusement.

He walked over to his oldest and put both hands on the younger man's shoulders. "For what it's worth, I would've reacted the same way in your place."

His hands tightened in a comforting squeeze. Dean's expression softened and he stepped into his father's embrace. Nell watched them pat each other's backs in that rough way men always did and smiled, glad to see her presence wasn't going to cause any lasting rifts between father and son.

As both men parted, Dean said, "I wasn't totally off base, though. There'll be plenty of other Hunters out there who won't take kindly to you teaming up with a vampire. It'll look like you're siding with the enemy."

John nodded. "Believe me, I thought of that. We're just gonna have to deal with them as they come."

"They don't hafta know what I am," Nell piped in.

"You can't fake being human forever," John said, "Sooner or later somebody's going to see you buying blood off someone and put two and two together pretty quick."

Nell looked troubled. "How bad could it get? I mean, would they come after you? Another Hunter?"

"If they saw me as a traitor," he sighed heavily, "Yeah."

Nell bit her lip as a sudden dread came over her. "I didn't think that part through. I can't put you in that kind of risk."

"I take risks every day," he countered.

"Not from your own people! You didn't even want me around in the first place, for god's sake!" She stormed over to her bed, hoisted her duffel on top of the rumpled covers and started cramming her things from the nightstand back into it.

Sam and Dean looked on in surprise as their dad went to her side and took hold of her arm. "What're you doing?"

Nell shook off his grip and continued packing. "What's it look like?"

"You can't just up and quit. Not when you were showing so much promise as a Hunter."

"Watch me." She zipped the bag closed with a violent jerk, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door, pausing to shove her feet into her sneakers. She glared at Dean and Sam until they hastily moved aside, then grabbed the doorknob and let herself out of the room.

John started after her, but a touch on his arm from Sam halted him. "She's got a point, Dad," his younger son said, not without sympathy, "Her leaving would be safer for both of you."

John swallowed, watching through the open door as Nell got smaller the farther away she got. The bright afternoon didn't seem to deter her in the least. "You think I should let her go."

"It'd be the smart move," Dean replied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, posture relaxed. Then he added, "But then again, us Winchesters aren't always known for goin' with the smart move."

John placed a hand on the open door, staring at the woman's retreating figure one last time before pushing it closed. He turned and faced his sons, who gazed back with understanding in their eyes. "It's her decision," he said. As if that made it any easier.

* * *

><p>It didn't matter that her skin healed faster than the sun could damage it, Nell still felt like she spent the whole day sunbathing without the benefit of sunscreen and then went for a roll in the sand for good measure. And to top it off, not one car so much as slowed when she thrust her thumb out to hitch a ride. As a result, by the time Nell came upon the Roadhouse she was in a very foul mood.<p>

She half expected to find the establishment locked up and was surprised when the door opened without resistance. The place was dead, though. The only person in sight was Mullet Guy who lay sprawled on top of one of the pool tables, snoring away.

"Hello?" Nell called out, not particularly caring if she disturbed the guy's snooze. Mullet Guy just snorted and rolled onto his side.

Ellen appeared from the back room toting a boxload of Jim Beam. She set the box down on the bar and turned to the new arrival. "Help you?" She frowned and pointed at Nell before the younger woman could answer. "You're John Winchester's friend, right?"

"Yeah—well, kinda." Nell adjusted the duffel bag's strap on her shoulder, a nervous fidget. "D'you have a phone book handy? I need to call a cab."

Ellen reached under the counter and pulled out a dogeared copy of the local phone directory, plopping it down on the bar top with a thud.

"Thanks." Nell started paging through the yellow pages.

The middle-aged woman tilted her head in curiosity. "Not that it's any of my business, hon, but did you and John have a falling out?"

Nell pursed her lips. "Not exactly. It's complicated."

Ellen's face took on a knowing smirk. "That's the kinda thing people always say when they don't wanna talk about their problems." She leaned against the bar. "Just so you know, I'm a real good listener and I don't judge. Sorta comes with the job."

Nell was in the process of dialing the first cab company she found listed when she felt compelled to meet the other woman's eyes. She hesitated, then asked, "You and John are friends, right?"

Ellen nodded, "Knew him since Sam and my Jo were just babies."

"So, what happened?"

Ellen frowned. "'Scuse me?"

"John kept looking away from you. He feels guilty about something. What was it?" Nell suddenly realized how forward she was being and hastily added, "You don't have to tell me, or anything. I was just wondering."

Ellen scrutinized her, thoughtful, then nodded to herself. "John and my husband, Bill, used to partner up sometimes on hunts. On their last hunt together, Bill lost his life because of a mistake John made. A tiny little slip-up only amateurs are supposed to make, not experienced Hunters like him."

"I'm sorry," Nell said, and meant it.

"It's alright. I forgave him a long time ago. My husband knew the risks; his luck just ran out that day."

The younger woman nodded. "That's why I'm going. I don't wanna put John in any more risk than he's already in just by being a Hunter."

"How's working with you putting him at more risk?" Ellen asked.

Nell turned her attention back to her phone. "It just is." She finished dialing and brought the phone to her ear. A few minutes later she hung up and took a seat by a window to wait for the taxi to arrive. Seeing her sitting there with her duffel bag on her lap, Ellen thought the only word that could accurately describe her at that moment was _forlorn_.

Ellen walked over to the Roadhouse's phone and picked up the receiver, dial a number she pretty much knew by heart. Her call was answered on the second ring. "Hey, it's Ellen," she said, her tone casual so as not to draw attention, "Yeah, she's here. Just thought you'd wanna know. 'Kay, bye." She hung up, then set about stowing the whiskey bottles under the counter.


	11. Nell's Story

**A/N:** Sappiness alert! Things are starting to get serious between these two.

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>Dean and Sam watched as their dad grew more restless with each passing minute. Neither one of them said anything, just lounged on the couch and pretended to watch TV. John abruptly picked up his jacket and slipped it on.<p>

"Goin' somewhere, Dad?" Dean asked, his manner a hair too casual.

"I can't let her just walk away," John muttered.

"Why not?" Sam asked, turning his eyes from the screen to confront his father, "That's what you did when I left."

"And that was a mistake," John responded contritely, "We should've talked it out, heard each other's side of things. I'm sorry that didn't happen."

His apology shocked his younger son so much Sam didn't know what to say. Once he regained his composure he asked, "You want us to come along?"

John's expression softened. "Thanks, but no. I think Nell and I should work this out alone."

The boys nodded in understanding.

"Any ideas where she might've gone?" Dean asked.

John searched for his keys. "She couldn't have gone far, unless she managed to hitch a ride." He found the keys on the dresser and pocketed them.

"Well, if you think you might need help finding her, call us," his oldest suggested.

It was at that moment that John's cell rang. He quickly answered it, half hoping it was Nell. "Hello?"

_"Hey, it's Ellen."_

John's shoulders sagged at the middle-aged woman's familiar voice. Then it occurred to him why she might be calling. "Did Nell show up at the Roadhouse?"

_"Yeah, she's here. Just thought you'd wanna know."_

"I'm coming over. Thanks, Ellen."

_"'Kay, bye."_

John hung up and headed for the door. "She's at the Roadhouse," he paused, one hand on the doorknob, "If you boys are gonna watch any of the pay-per-view channels, you'd better do that in your room. I don't wanna see any extra charges on my bill tomorrow."

Both of his sons wore identical looks of false innocence. "We wouldn't dream of doing that, Dad," Dean replied.

"Uh huh," John smirked, then left the hotel room. Moments later the rumble of his truck's engine could be heard fading into the distance.

Sam turned to Dean. "So, what _is_ on pay-per-view?"

Dean grinned and picked up a copy of the listings.

* * *

><p>Nell saw the familiar pickup pull up in the Roadhouse's parking lot and stifled a groan. Of course he'd be too damn stubborn to just let her leave without any real explanation. But then she thought she might get out of this after all; a yellow cab arrived just as John was getting out of his truck. Nell quickly grabbed her things and hurried out the door. She wasn't fast enough, however. She saw John standing by the driver's window. They exchanged a few words, John passed the driver some cash, and the cab abruptly did a U-turn and drove off.<p>

"No, wait!" Nell shouted, but it was too late. Her ride was gone. She spun and fixed John with an angry glare. "You asshole."

He took the insult in stride. "I just want to talk. We both know I can't really stop you if you wanna leave. I just need to know why you suddenly couldn't get away fast enough."

"You know why," she growled, "I told you, me staying puts you in too much danger-"

"There's something you're not telling me," he interrupted, his eyes taking in the tiniest expressions that flitted across her face, "I think I know what it is, but I could be wrong."

Nell shifted her stance. "What d'you mean?" she asked, wary.

John nodded towards the Roadhouse. "C'mon," he said, walking towards it, "Let's get in out of this sun."

Nell wanted to argue, but the brightness of the day was starting to get to her now that her initial ire had passed. She followed John indoors, threw an angry look at Ellen, who met her glare calmly and without a hint of apology.

"You called him, didn't you." It wasn't really a question, but Ellen nodded all the same.

"Whatever happened between you two, I thought he deserved the chance to try and work it out before you disappeared on him."

"What's going on between us is none of your business," Nell snapped.

"Nell..." John tried to interject.

She rounded on him. "And where d'you get off ambushing me like this? You think talking about it's gonna make any difference? I'm _going_. It's _done._"

"If it won't make any difference, then where's the harm in talking?" John challenged, "You afraid I might change your mind?"

"Oh, fuck you-"

"Hey..." The unexpected voice drew everyone's attention to the pool table where Mullet Guy was sitting up, head cradled in his hands. "Keep it down, willya? Some of us got hangovers to deal with."

Ellen quickly went over to him. "Ash, why don't you come and help me organize the back."

Ash blinked in confusion. "Huh?" His bleary eyes wandered over to the pair on the other side of the room and his eyebrows shot up. "Hey!" he pointed at Nell, "You're that vampire chick, right?"

Nell gaped. How the hell did he know that? She looked at John and saw he was just as shocked as her. The only person caught even more off guard by the guy's drunken revelation was Ellen. She stared at John, her hardened expression telling him he had a lot of explaining to do and it better be damn good.

"C'mon, Ash," she tugged on his sleeve.

Ash blinked as his addled mind finally clicked in on the situation. "Oh, right!" he slid off the pool table, "Gotta give these two lovebirds some privacy." He winked and even did that silly gun-point thing with his finger before following Ellen to the back room.

Nell stood for a moment staring at the door the strange guy had disappeared through. "What the hell was that?"

"Ash," John answered, equally perplexed, "Sam and Dean told me about him, but I thought they were exaggerating."

"He's like a human cartoon."

"Yeah."

They glanced at each other, shifted awkwardly, their fight completely derailed by the bizarre barfly's exit. John finally cleared his throat, "Let's sit down."

"Okay."

They went to the nearest table and sat across from each other. Nell stared at the scarred tabletop, her right knee jiggling. John rested his forearms on the table, hands clasped and fingers interlaced. "You still wearing the charm I gave you?" he asked.

She nodded, a little surprised by the question. "I sorta forgot I had it on."

"Promise me you won't take it off."

"What, never?" a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, "Not even when I take a shower?"

"Not even then," John replied, all seriousness.

"Why not?"

He lowered his eyes. "I'd just feel better knowing you're protected." He suddenly realized he was twisting the wedding band on his finger and forced himself to stop. The gesture wasn't lost on Nell.

"I promise not to take it off," she said.

"Thanks." John's smile was tinged with sadness. "Wanna tell me why you were so eager to run off all of a sudden?"

Nell sighed, rested her elbows on the table and lightly drummed her fingers on its scratched surface. "I'm guessing you know a lot about vampires, being a Hunter and all."

John nodded. "Sure, I know their weaknesses, their group habits, their preferred methods for stalking prey," he hesitated, thinking of all the little clues he'd noticed over time, "And I know they—you—mate for life."

Nell smiled ruefully. "What gave me away?"

He shrugged. "Nothing specific, just a lot of little things I picked up when we talked. Mostly when I told you about Mary."

"Maybe it was just sympathy," she suggested, though not very convincingly, "Vampires can feel sympathy, too, y'know."

"It wasn't just sympathy. You understood what I felt better than anyone who didn't go through the same kind of loss."

Nell was silent for a long time. Finally, "You know why we mate for life? It's not like with humans. We don't exchange vows that we can conveniently forget about a few years later. With vampires it's more like imprinting. Like birds, y'know? And when one of 'em dies, it hurts worse than anything, 'cause it never goes away. The feeling."

"What happened?" John asked quietly, though he had a pretty good idea already.

Nell bit her lip, seemed to come to a decision, and began to talk. "When I was human, I had a boyfriend named Harrison. He was a med student, all straight-laced and respectable," she chuckled, "None of my friends knew what the hell I saw in him. Likewise with his friends. But, I dunno, something about us just clicked."

John nodded, knowing what she meant. He and Mary clicked pretty much from the start.

"He was too busy with his studying to come with me to Woodstock," she continued, "Sometimes I wonder if I would've been turned if he'd been there. Harrison was always so careful about people we didn't know. He didn't believe me at first when I told him what happened, till I showed him my teeth. My cravings were starting to get pretty bad by then and I was scared to death I might hurt somebody. Lucky for me Harrison knew how to draw blood. First time it was his own, but then he started volunteering for blood drives so he could sneak me a few pints once in a while. He even taught me how to draw blood, just in case."

"You never turned him?" John asked.

Nell shook her head. "I offered, but he said no. Least he had the choice."

"But you stayed together anyway."

"Yeah. More than twenty years," Nell smiled at the memories, even as tears started to form in her eyes, "We had to keep moving, of course, since I never got any older. Wasn't so bad since Harrison never had to worry about job offers. He was a great doctor, and he always volunteered some time at the nearest blood bank." She grinned. "We always laughed at how people obviously thought I was his dumb blonde trophy wife. I always played it up, too. Twirling my hair and popping gum, giggling like an airhead. We thought we were so careful. Nobody'd ever figure it out."

"But somebody did," John guessed.

Nell's green eyes took on a faraway look. "It was slow that night at the clinic where Harrison volunteered. A man showed up, someone new. He pulled out a gun and told Harrison to call me on his cell. I knew something was wrong; his voice was so tense. So I went over there and as soon as I walked in the door the guy shot me with a tranquilizer dart, only the dart was full of dead man's blood. I didn't know what was happening to me. I'd never been poisoned with dead man's blood before. Didn't really know anything about Hunters, either. Next thing I knew I was on the floor and I saw Harrison tied up in a corner. Then the Hunter pulled out a machete and I couldn't stop staring at that huge shiny blade coming at me. I was too shocked to even be scared. My thoughts were oozing and I couldn't move and everything was happening in that unreal fast-slow kinda way you see in nightmares."

John remembered the vampires he'd killed in the same way, drugging them with dead man's blood and then taking their heads with his machete. He imagined Nell lying on the ground wide-eyed and helpless, just as those vampires had, and his stomach twisted with sudden nausea.

Nell kept talking, oblivious to his distress, "Neither one of us paid attention to Harrison. The Hunter never bothered to search him and he managed to get his penknife out of his pants pocket and cut himself loose. Just when the Hunter was about to kill me, Harrison ran over and stabbed him in the shoulder with the penknife. That Hunter was pissed, man." She blinked rapidly; her chin started to tremble. "It happened so fast. The Hunter turned and swung, and Harrison...h-his head it..." She squeezed her eyes shut and matching tears trailed down both cheeks. John wanted to reach out and take her hand, but knew instinctively she'd only pull away. So he waited while Nell pulled herself together to finish her story. "I don't remember what happened after that. Everything went gray and I was screaming. I didn't sound human. Then I found myself crouched over the Hunter. He was all torn up. There was so much blood everywhere, all over me, in my mouth. But he was still alive. He was looking at me all full of hate and called me a monster. It was the last thing he said before he died: _'Monster.'_ He was the only person I ever killed."

The tears were flowing freely now. John pulled a couple of paper napkins out of the dispenser on the table and handed them to her. Nell accepted them without a word and blew her nose. "Know what I did then? When I heard the police sirens coming?" she asked, followed by an immediate answer, "I ran. I just left Harrison lying there with the fucker who killed him and I left town for good. Never even went back for his funeral." She lowered her head. "It didn't matter anyway," she mumbled, "That body, it wasn't Harrison anymore. He was gone. I felt him go. And a big chunk of me went with him. I was pretty much a ghost after that, just drifting from one place to the next. I was numb inside, I didn't feel anything. I wasn't _me_ anymore." She raised her eyes and met John's sympathetic gaze. "Not till I met you."

John swallowed, startled by his reaction to those words. "So, when Dean mentioned that other Hunters might come after me for partnering with you..."

"I can't go through that again," Nell said, shaking her head, "I know it's dumb. I know we barely even know each other and there's a million ways either of us could buy it, but if you get killed because of me I...I couldn't live with it."

John did take her hand then, and she didn't pull away. When he squeezed, she squeezed back and he felt the sheer strength in her grip. She could have crushed all the bones in his hand if she wanted. Yet her green eyes and youthful features held so much vulnerability at that moment.

"How do you think I'd feel if something happened to you and I wasn't there?" he said in a husky voice, "There's worse things out there than other Hunters, things so powerful you can't even imagine. My wife was murdered by one of them. And I wasn't even there. I never got the chance to try to save her, even though I probably would've just ended up dead, too. I have to be there, Nell. I have to know that I'd at least have a chance if something came after you."

"John..."

He plowed on, "I wasn't me, either, after Mary died. I thought that might change after I killed the thing that took her from me, but it didn't work that way." He squeezed her hand even tighter. "And you're right, we've only known each other a little over a week. But maybe that's all we need. Maybe it's enough for us to know that we don't have to be alone anymore. We can both be with someone who understands the pain we carry."

Nell stared at him, her expression unreadable. "I think we just had another moment," she said.

John smiled, but it was fleeting. "Please stay," he said just above a whisper, finally allowing his mask to slip so she could see the true vulnerability underneath.

Nell wanted to jerk her hand away and walk out of the Roadhouse. Running away was so much easier. But now that she had time to think about it, the thought of going back to her solitary drifting was every bit as painful as the thought that John might get killed because of her. At least if she stayed, there was a chance at something better for both of them.

She wiped her eyes again and nodded. "Okay."

John's smile was even broader this time. Impulsively, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Nell laughed and finally pulled her hand from his grasp. "Dude, someone might see us!"

John chuckled, "So? Let 'em think what they want."

Nell's expression turned a little more serious. "Your friend Ellen didn't look too happy when that dude with the mullet blabbed on me. How the hell did he even know I was a vampire?"

John shrugged. "Dean and Sam mentioned he was at MIT for a while, before he was either kicked out or dropped out. "

"Neither one of those would surprise me," Nell said, "So, he's like an idiot-savant?"

"Considering how many braincells he must've killed over the years, he had to have been a supergenius," John theorized.

"Freaky," said the vampire.

The supernatural Hunter agreed.


	12. Rest In Peace

**A/N:** Here's another chapter for ya! Thanks again for the reviews I've gotten so far. I enjoy the positive feedback. :-D

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>CREATION, SOUTH DAKOTA<p>

TWO DAYS AGO

Nobody noticed anything wrong. The old man never talked to anyone, rarely left his property, the only mail he got was utility bills and even those stopped coming when he no longer paid and they simply cut the power and water (he never had a phone to cut off). The only time people even talked about him was to complain about the condition of his home, an embarrassing blemish in an otherwise picturesque community. The house was decrepit, the lawn nothing but bald patches and clumps of crabgrass, and everywhere were the inert forms of cars abandoned to the elements, so many no one was sure of their number. Some were a few years old, others went back decades. The place was a junkyard. Its only saving grace was the fact that it was all relatively isolated in a plot of land on the outskirts of town. This made it easier to ignore the place and the crazy old man who was basically a hermit anyway.

Only later did it occur to people that no one had caught a glimpse of him in a very long time.

A man arrived one day, sent to speak to the old man about the thousands of dollars in back taxes he owed the government. The man knocked and waited, knocked and waited, growing more and more irritated at the apparent snubbing. He finally peeked through one of the grimy windows and that was when he discovered the old man's remains sprawled out on the living room floor. He was little more than a dried-out skeleton by then. The coroner ruled his death the result of natural causes, and pretty soon the town set about clearing away the tremendous mess he'd left behind.

Dale wasn't sure how old some of these cars were, but they reminded him of the kinds his grandparents used to drive. All rounded corners with tiny rear windows and fronts that looked like grinning faces. Their tires had rotted away long ago and their upholstery was either chewed up by small animals for their nests or moldered away to leave only the springs behind. Dragging them out of their resting places was a bitch. Many of them had sunk into the ground so that plants and tree roots could tangle themselves around the wheel rims. Their sudden absence left blatant scars in the earth.

Dale attached the wrecker's hook to the next derelict car's hitch—praying the whole undercarriage didn't detach like the last one—and walked over to the winch controls. The powerful electric motor whined in protest as it struggled against decades of inertia to finally move the useless vehicle out of the rut it had settled itself into. Flakes of rust rained down, metal groaned, and slowly the ancient car scooted forward.

"Atta boy," Dale grinned as the car crept up the ramp onto the wrecker's wide bed. Minutes later he secured it in place and drove off to deliver it to the scrapyard. He whistled along to the radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. A sedan driving past in the opposite lane honked its horn and Dale offered a cheery wave to the driver. It was that kind of town.

There was an incredible lurch and the wrecker suddenly dropped, slamming down with enough force to make Dale's teeth crash together. If he'd bitten his tongue, he probably would have severed the tip. Metal shrieked horrendously as the wrecker skidded for several yards down the road before finally halting at an angle across two lanes. Tires screeched as other drivers hastily slammed on their brakes. Horns honked and voices rose in angry and frightened shouts. Dale sat in bug-eyed shock, clutching the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. He finally moved when someone knocked frantically on his window. He managed to loosen one hand to roll down the window. The anxious face of Tim Donnert, a neighbor from across the street, leaned in. "Jeezus, Dale! You alright?"

"I think so," he answered weakly, "What the hell happened?"

"Your wheels fell off, man."

Dale's brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. "Which ones?"

Tim shook his head in amazement. "_All_ of 'em!"

Dale blinked. "That...That can't happen," he protested weakly.

"Well, it did. Take a look for yourself." Tim stepped back to allow him to exit the vehicle. Dale noticed his leg didn't have to reach down all that far to reach the ground. He backed away a couple of steps, then slowly circled the wrecker.

After several minutes of contemplation, Dale pushed back his battered cap and wiped his brow on his forearm. "Well, I'll be damned.

The wrecker lay flat on the asphalt, all four tires and the wheel rims gone. A glance back at the swath of heavily scraped pavement showed them lying on their sides several yards back. From the looks of things, they'd all fallen off at the exact same time.

* * *

><p>HARVELLE'S ROADHOUSE<p>

PRESENT DAY

Nell used the public bathroom to change out of the sweatpants and T-shirt she'd slept in, leaving John alone with a very disapproving Ellen. There was no sign of Ash at the moment; Ellen had probably saddled him with a couple of simple chores to keep him occupied.

Ellen leaned her back against the bar, arms crossed, while John sat in one of the simple wooden chairs. He felt like he was a kid about to get scolded by the teacher.

"Well?" Ellen said, waiting for an explanation that she probably wouldn't like.

John shrugged. "You already know. Nell's a vampire, she's learning to be a Hunter. What's left to say?"

"You weren't even gonna tell me," his friend accused.

John heaved a weary sigh. "I'm sorry if trying to keep it a secret hurt your feelings, but I've had my fill of people lecturing me on what a huge mistake this is. I know all the risks and the preconceptions. I don't need to hear them again."

Ellen's expression turned sad. "Can you blame everyone for worrying? None of us wants to see you get hurt. You've already had your heart broken once and you barely held it together ever since."

John stood and closed the distance between them, resting his broad hands on the woman's shoulders. "I'm grateful that you care enough to worry. But could you try to be just a little bit happy for me?"

Ellen sighed, bit her lip, then nodded. "I'll do my best. But I still don't think this'll end well. For either of you."

"Well, let's hope you're wrong for once." Smiling, John drew her into a hug. They parted the same moment Nell emerged from the restroom, clad in black jeans and a dark tie-dyed shirt, her long hair tied back in its usual loose ponytail.

"'Kay, I'm ready to go," she turned to Ellen, "Nice meeting you. And, uh, thanks for not, y'know, freaking out about me."

The middle-aged woman smiled, a warm expression that softened her features. "Nice meeting you, too, Nell," she replied, and sounded like she meant it.

Ash chose that moment to reappear, toting the most ghetto laptop that ever existed. "Hey, you all wouldn't be heading out to South Dakota, wouldya?"

"Um," John blinked in surprise, "Haven't thought about it."

"You should," the skinny, mullet-haired man said in all seriousness, "'Cause there's some weird shit goin' down there." He jabbed at the computer screen with his finger. "Check it out. All kindsa weird activity around this town just started croppin' up a couple of days ago. No explanation for it."

"Dude," Nell eyed the contraption in his hands, "That is one unique laptop."

"I made it myself," Ash stated proudly.

"You don't say."

"Where is this town?" John interjected, not entirely sure he'd even bother to go there.

Ash showed him the location on a map displayed on the screen: Creation, South Dakota.

"And you're sure this isn't just a series of ordinary flukes?"

Ellen rose to Ash's defense, "That search program of his hasn't been wrong yet. If he says it's a job for a Hunter, then it is."

John mulled it over. It wasn't as if they had any other plans. He looked at Nell. "What do you think?"

She shrugged. "South Dakota's as good a place as any."

With the decision made, Ash handed over a printout of the data he'd collected. John and Nell said their farewells and left the Roadhouse. They returned to the hotel to get the rest of their things and say goodbye to John's sons. The boys didn't look all that surprised to see Nell again.

"So, you're sticking with Dad after all," Sam remarked, his friendly smile bringing out the dimples he and his father shared.

"Yep," Nell replied, "Through thick and thin. Least until John finally gets sick of me."

"Where are you headed to next?" Dean asked.

John answered, "South Dakota."

"Cool. Say hi to Bobby for us if you see him."

"And if he doesn't shoot you first," Sam added under his breath. John overheard, however.

"He's not gonna shoot me. I'm sure he got over it years ago."

"Got over what?" Nell asked.

"Nothing," John said a little too quickly. The boys exchanged amused glances.

"Well," Nell stepped forward, hand extended, "It was nice getting to know you two. Glad to see your dad's gloominess wasn't contagious."

John rolled his eyes.

Sam and Dean shook hands without hesitation. Sam even gave her a brief hug.

"Give us a call if things get hairy," Dean said, "Dad always thinks he can tough it out alone. That stubborn ex-Marine mentality of his."

"Let's go," John sounded annoyed, but they could see the amusement in his eyes. He embraced his sons a final time, then he and Nell piled into the truck and drove off.

"You okay for a while" John asked a few minutes later, "or do you think we'll have to make a pit stop soon?" He was referring to her blood craving, of course.

"I'm good for a couple more hours," she said, "I don't have to feed as often when I'm not running around getting beat up by undead monsters." She riffled through the pages Ash had given them, skimming over the strange incidents that currently plagued the small South Dakota town.

"So, what're we getting ourselves into?" John asked.

"Says a buncha weird mechanical problems are happening all over the town. Things falling apart and malfunctioning for no reason. Nobody can figure it out."

"Any casualties?"

"Bumps and bruises, a couple of broken bones. Nothing fatal," Nell couldn't quite hide her relief at this, "It's almost like somebody's playing a shitload of pranks on everybody."

"Maybe someone is," John speculated.

"What? Like a poltergeist?"

He shook his head. "Poltergeists only haunt limited areas, mainly houses. But that doesn't exclude other kinds of spirits."

"Least it doesn't seem to be out to kill people."

"Yeah, well, that could change. Especially once we start interfering."

Nell flipped another page. "Most of these incidents sound like something out of an old Chaplin film. Some guy's lawn tractor fell to pieces as soon as he sat on it. A lady's antique grandfather clock had all its gears messed with so it started running backwards. A car's steering wheel was stuck in a right-hand turn. Stuff like that."

"Mischief making," John concluded. He glanced at the woman beside him and smiled. "Here's hoping for an easy job this time around."

"Amen to that," Nell agreed fervently.

* * *

><p>"So, tell me about this guy, Bobby," she suggested some time later. They'd already stopped for gas—as well as a pint of AB negative bought off an amiable trucker—and Nell was currently taking a turn behind the wheel. "Why'd Sam say he'd try to shoot you?"<p>

John smiled ruefully. "We kinda had a falling out. I'll admit it was mostly my fault. Bobby thought I had a death wish."

"And he thought he'd prove it by threatening you with a gun?"

"Actually, I think he was trying to protect himself from me. I, uh...I can be too stubborn for my own good sometimes. That's a dangerous thing in this line of work, especially with partners involved. If Bobby hadn't distanced himself from me I probably would've gotten him killed eventually."

"_Did_ you have a death wish?" she asked.

John gave the question some thought. "I was definitely self-destructive," he answered carefully, "But no, I don't think I had a death wish."

"And you're not self-destructive anymore."

He shrugged. "Guess I just needed to figure out I had something worth living for."

"Like your kids," Nell supposed.

"Yeah," John said quietly, "Them too."

Nell wasn't sure how to react to that without embarrassing herself, so she pretended not to hear.

When they eventually reached Creation, nothing seemed out of place at first. But then they started to notice how many car hoods were open with people leaning over the engines, how many utility workers were busy repairing faulty stoplights and streetlights, and how many downtown businesses seemed to be having trouble with their electric signs. The locals were polite, but distracted and more than a little nervous. They couldn't even trust their own household appliances to behave.

It took a lot of questioning, but John and Nell finally traced the first incidents to the day when a deceased old man's property was being disposed of.

"You think it's him, right?" Nell asked as they headed for the town's only hotel, "The old hermit's ghost got pissed off at everybody messing with his stuff and decided to get even."

"Wouldn't be the first time something like that happened," John agreed.

Once again they ended up booking a single room with separate beds, even though there were other rooms available. Neither one of them brought up this change in sleeping arrangements. It just felt right.

"We'll wait till nightfall," John said as they unpacked, "Then find his grave and salt and burn the bones."

"Which means I got a long night of digging to look forward to," Nell sighed, "Awesome."

"Least you'll get to sleep the rest of the day," John consoled her.

She snorted ruefully. "If I _can_ sleep. I just started getting used to staying up during the day. These irregular hours suck."

"You'll adjust." John drew the curtains and kicked off his shoes.

Nell sat on the edge of her bed. "How long did it take you to adjust?"

"Honestly?" he stretched out on the other bed with a tired groan, "I'm _still_ adjusting."

* * *

><p>Grave digging was even less of a joy than Nell expected. Her hands blistered even with work gloves on, she was sweaty and grimy, and the dirt seemed to get in every crease and crevice of her body. The only thing that kept her from sniping was the fact that John didn't look any better off than her. They were going to make good use of the hotel's shower once they were done.<p>

Nell's shovel made an audible thunk as she struck something other than more dirt. "Finally!" she exclaimed in relief. She and John quickly uncovered the top of the casket. John cracked through the lid with a hatchet, revealing the mummified remains cradled inside. Nell wrinkled her nose. "Yeesh. How can anybody drop dead and rot away and nobody notices?"

"Happens more often than you think," John said, his face unreadable, "Some people area just invisible."

"Well, this guy's about to get even less visible." They climbed out of the hole and Nell grabbed the container of kosher salt from her backpack along with the lighter fluid and a box of kitchen matches. John had explained to her that the reason they used kosher or rock salt was because ordinary table salt was iodized, which made it impure and therefore useless when it came to repelling ghosts and minor demons. Nell twisted open the container and poured the salt over the remains. John added the lighter fluid, then Nell struck a match and dropped it into the hole. "R.I.P., old dude."

Yellow flames instantly rose up from the grave, bathing the Hunters' faces in its glow and making them sweat even more. Neither of them spoke; the occasion seemed to somber for words. Once the flames died down, leaving nothing but ash, they filled in the grave once again, gathered up their tools, and returned to the pickup.

As soon as they got back to the hotel room Nell dropped her pack by the door and headed for the bathroom. "I feel so funky," she groaned, "And not in a good way. Dibs on the shower."

"Go ahead." John collapsed onto the couch and switched on the TV. He didn't really pay attention to what was on, just zoned out to the flickering images and droning voices. An indeterminate amount of time later, he was jostled awake by Nell's hand on his shoulder. The vampire was wearing a loose tee and sweatpants, her usual sleeping attire. Her long hair hung in damp tendrils down the sides of her face and her back.

"Your turn," she said, "And believe me, dude, you could use it."

"Gee, thanks." He heaved himself out of his seat and shuffled over to the bathroom. Nell was kind enough to leave him some hot water, so he indulged in a longer shower than usual. It wasn't until he was rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair that he realized he'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes. A flush rose in his cheeks, which he quickly stamped down. He wasn't some gawky teen, for god's sake! All he had to do was walk in with a towel around his waist, grab a pair of pants, and go back into the bathroom to put them on. No big deal. Nevertheless, he gripped the towel with one hand in case it decided to slip. His modesty adequately seen to, John opened the door and peered out into the room.

Nell lay curled up beneath the blankets of her bed, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. John smiled in relief and stepped out of the bathroom. As quietly as he could, he opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers. He then removed the towel and stepped into the shorts, his back to Nell. This meant he was unaware when Nell's eyes cracked open and she caught a glimpse of his ass before he pulled the boxers up. She hastily squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he didn't notice her furious blushing when he turned around. Shit! She hadn't meant to sneak a peek. She just heard movement and her eyes instinctively opened to check for a possible threat. Would John buy that if he asked? Nell wasn't even sure _she_ did.

She heard the creaking of the bed's springs, then a faint click as John turned of the bedside lamp. Nell slowly opened her eyes again and gazed across at the opposite bed. John was on his side, facing her. His eyes were also open. Did he see her? His human eyes weren't as good at seeing in the dark. Nell stayed motionless. A few minutes later John's eyes drifted shut. He looked relaxed. Peaceful.

Nell found herself wondering what would happen if she climbed into the bed behind John and pressed herself against his back. She remembered sleeping with Harrison that way, taking in his warmth, his scent, feeling his breaths and the slow beat of his heart. She missed that closeness. At that moment she felt Harrison's absence as keenly as when his death was new. Nell turned her head to push her face into the pillow, letting it soak up her tears.

"Nell?"

John's quiet murmur startled her that she gasped, though it sounded more like a sob. "Y-Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"I'm..." _Fine_, she was going to say, but what came out instead was, "I miss Harrison."

She heard the bed creak, the whisper of bare feet on the carpet, then she felt a slight draft as the blanket was lifted and the mattress settled as John crawled in behind her, unasked. His arm went around her waist, pulling her against his broad frame. She felt sheltered and protected.

"Better?" he asked.

Nell sniffed, nodded. "Thanks."

There was silence for a while, then... "Nell?"

"Yeah?"

"...I miss Mary, too."

She reached down, found his hand, and interlaced her fingers with his. They fell asleep like this, and neither one of them was troubled by dreams.


	13. Mischievous Imps

**A/N:** Happy Halloween! Here's your treat: a new chapter! ;-D

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

* * *

><p>John drank his coffee and watched Nell engage a healthy-looking middle-aged woman on the other side of Creation's local diner. It amazed him how the vampire could charm people into selling her some of their blood without them freaking out about it, treating it as normal as bumming a cigarette. It was almost enough to make John believe in that bullshit about them having the power to hypnotize their victims. If only all vampires would feed this way; Hunters like him would never have a reason to come after them.<p>

The middle-aged woman got up from her seat and she and Nell headed for the ladies room to complete their transaction. A short while later the woman returned to her table, the only notable difference about her a small bandage in the crook of her elbow. A few minutes after that a very refreshed Nell stepped out of the restroom and sauntered over to the table where John waited. The waitress arrived with their orders the second Nell sat down.

"Here ya go," the girl chirped, "One scrambled eggs with toast and one short stack with extra sausage on the side."

"Thanks!" Nell beamed at the steaming pancakes and sizzling sausage links. She picked up the bottle of maple syrup included with her order and poured a generous amount over everything. The waitress topped off their coffees and practically skipped away. Nell gave her retreating back a slightly annoyed look. "Perky girls bug me."

John almost choked on his mouthful of eggs. Nell frowned at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he cleared his throat, scooted his food around on the plate with his fork, "Just thought that was an interesting remark, coming from you."

The corner of her mouth twitch. "You saying I'm perky?"

He shrugged. "You have your moments."

"I'm not perky, I'm enthusiastic." She crammed a huge forkful of pancake and sausage into her mouth and chewed, her eyes rolling ceilingward. "Mmm! See?" she somehow managed to speak around her bulging cheeks, "Enthusiasm."

John shook his head, suppressing a laugh. He was relieved and more than a little surprised to find no awkwardness between them, even though they'd spent the previous night in the same bed. It wasn't that things between them were the same as before; it felt more like their relationship was progressing as it was meant to. Which was weird, because John wasn't a big believer in fate.

"Seems kinda weird how easy the job was this time," Nell said as she continued to dig into her breakfast, "A little grave defiling and we're done."

"Some of them are like that," John told her, "Be grateful for it. The next one's probably gonna be a bear to figure out."

"Oh, I'm grateful alright." She was already halfway done with her food. _Where the hell does it all go?_ John wondered, eying her thin figure.

They finished their meals, paid the tab, then left the diner. They climbed into the pickup, already loaded with their possessions. They'd checked out of the hotel first thing that morning, having no reason to stick around now that the trouble was over. John stuck the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing. Puzzled, he tried again. Still nothing; even the lights on the dash console remained dead.

"What's up?" Nell asked, "Dead battery?"

"Can't be. I replaced it a couple of months ago." Scowling, John pulled the hood release, then got out of the cab and walked around to the front. Nell followed, even though what she knew about the mechanics of vehicles was pretty much limited to checking the oil.

The second he raised the hood, John's eyes widened and his jaw fell open. Surprised, Nell peered under the hood, but couldn't tell what had him all gobsmacked. "What is it?"

"The engine," he answered faintly.

"What about it?"

John slowly turned his head to look at her. "It's backwards."

One of her eyebrows quirked. "It's _what?_"

"Backwards. As in turned around. That right _there_," he pointed at something in the back, "is supposed to be _here_," he indicated the front.

"How the hell did that happen? We saw it through the window the whole time we were eating!"

John slammed the hood shut, placed one hand on his hip and ran the other hand across his eyes. "We didn't fix anything. Whatever's been doing these weird pranks is still here."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed as much," she said drily. She lifted her arms and let them drop, hands slapping against her thighs. "So, now what?"

John sighed, "We go back to square one and try to figure out what the hell's doing this." He walked back to the truck bed and rummaged through his tools until he pulled out a handheld boxy contraption with some kind of meter on the front. He flicked on a switch and started waving the device over the pickup.

Nell leaned against the truck and watched him with a smirk. "Is that a tricorder? Are you scanning for intelligent life?"

John threw her a be-serious look which she duly ignored. "It's an EMF meter," he said, "If a spirit did this, there'll be an electromagnetic frequency left behind that this can detect." He slowly moved the EMF over the hood of the truck. The needle on the meter barely moved.

"You sure that thing works?" Nell asked, "I mean, what if whatever-it-is messed with that, too?"

John walked over to the nearest telephone pole and pointed the EMF towards the power cables overhead. The needle crept upward and a whine emitted from the device. "It works."

"Cool. Then I guess we're not dealing with a spirit."

"Doesn't seem like it." John switched the EMF off and tossed it back into the truck. "So much for this being simple. There's gotta be hundreds of mischievous entities to pick from. Imps, hobgoblins, piskies..."

"Gremlins," Nell added.

"There's no such thing as gremlins."

She laughed incredulously, "Seriously? You believe in little elves, but not gremlins."

"Gremlins are a myth World War Two pilots made up as a lame excuse for the shoddy maintenance on their planes," John stated with unshakable certainty.

"How d'you know?"

"Because supernatural creatures have been around since the dawn of time. They don't just suddenly crop up when something new comes along like technology."

Nell turned her eyes upward in thought. "Well, then maybe they're not new. Maybe some of those hobgoblins or whatever just decided to adapt with the times-"

"There...are...no...gremlins," John's tone left no room for debate.

"Hokay," Nell snorted, obviously humoring him.

John dug out his cellphone and hit the speed dial.

"Who're you callin', dude?"

"Bobby," he replied, "Aside from being a Hunter who specializes in binding spells, he's also a mechanic. He might be able to help us figure out what we're dealing with. And help me fix my truck."

"Sweet!" Nell grinned, "I get to meet the infamous Bobby. Think he'll try to shoot you like Sam said?"

Before John could respond his call was answered. _"Singer's Auto Salvage, Bobby speakin'."_

"It's John."

_"Hey, John,"_ Bobby's voice was deceptively neutral, _"Didn't think I'd be hearin' from you anytime soon. What gives?"_

"I'm on a hunting trip here in South Dakota and ran into a snag you might be able to help me with. Some kind of mischievous entity or trickster's wreaking havoc with the machinery and electronics in this town I'm at. I thought it was taken care of yesterday, but this morning my truck was a little...messed up."

_"Uh huh."_ Bobby gave nothing away with his response.

John sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Look, I understand if you don't wanna involve yourself, but I could use your help on this."

Bobby was silent for a long moment, then he sighed in resignation and asked, _"What's the town's name?"_

"Creation. Know where that is?"

_"No, but it shouldn't be that hard to find. It'll gimme a chance to try out my new GPS."_

John blinked. "You have a GPS?"

_"Sure. Don't you?"_ He could hear the smirk in Bobby's voice.

"I'll see you when you get here," John informed him tersely, "We're staying at the Shady Inn."

_"I'll be there."_ Bobby ended the call without bothering to say goodbye.

John put his phone in his pocket and headed for the diner once again to ask for a phone book so he could call a tow truck. Nell trailed behind him. "Thanks for mentioning me, by the way," she said, though she didn't really sound all that bothered.

John glanced at her over his shoulder. "Sorry, but I figured it'd be better if you two met face to face."

"So he can see how fabulous I am before you break it to him that I'm a vampire?"

He smiled. "Something like that."

"That's cool," she shrugged carelessly, "Not as if there's an easy way to bring it up. 'Hi, I'm Nell, and I'm a vampire!'"

"Hi, Nell," John responded, sounding like a bored AA attendee.

Nell laughed and punched his shoulder, careful to hold herself back lest she leave him sprawled out on the ground.

* * *

><p>They managed to get the same room when they checked into the hotel once again. "Change of plans?" the clerk asked. To which John unexpectedly replied in a sugary oh-so-happy voice, "Well y'know, this town's just so darn charming we couldn't bear to leave." Then he put his arm around Nell and said with a big toothy grin, "Ain't that right, honey?"<p>

And Nell, fighting hysterical giggles, replied with an overly cheerful, "Sure is, sweetie!"

When they finally reached the safety of the room, they both doubled over with laughter and didn't stop until they were both red-faced and almost blind with tears.

"What the hell was that!" Nell exclaimed once she regained her breath.

"I have no idea," John admitted, "I haven't done anything like that since..." He fell silent.

Nell smiled in understanding. "Since before your wife died?"

"Yeah," he smiled ruefully, "Believe it or not, I used to have a sense of humor."

"Looks like you still do."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on me."

She tilted her head and gave him a coy smile. "Is that such a bad thing, cowboy?"

John chuckled, shook his head. "You've gotta stop calling me that."

"How come?"

"Because if you don't, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Nell's grin widened. "That a promise?"

It was then that they both realized their conversation had made a sudden swerve into flirtation and the awkwardness that had been absent before now rose up with a vengeance. Nell looked away while John suddenly became fascinated with the carpet pattern. Nell abruptly headed for the couch. "I'm gonna see what's on TV."

"Right. I'll, uh," John turned towards the window, "I'll keep an eye out for Bobby."

A little over an hour later, John saw Bobby's old wrecker pull up in the hotel's parking lot and he and Nell stepped outside to meet him. Nell took in the sight of the fifty-something man with the scruffy beard, rumpled clothes, and battered old baseball cap with the frayed brim. Everything about him spoke of a down-to-earth, no-bullshit kind of guy who probably faced supernatural menaces with the same pragmatism as he did mechanical problems. She liked him immediately.

"Bobby." John held out his hand.

"John." Bobby shook it, then the two men stood facing each other, the silence between them loaded with unspoken history, not all of it good.

Bobby immediately turned his attention towards Nell. "Well, since this rude sonuvabitch isn't gonna introduce us, I guess I'll take the initiative," he smiled warmly and held out his hand, "Bobby Singer."

"Nell Estrie. Glad to meet ya." Nell grinned and shook hands. Bobby's palm was thick with years worth of accumulated callous.

The introductions done, Bobby shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed. "So, you're the vampire who wants to be a Hunter, huh?"

John gaped. "How did you-" his eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Did Ellen call you?"

"Nope. Sam did."

Nell laughed at John's exasperated look. "Is there anybody who _doesn't _know about her?" he asked.

Bobby's expression turned sober. "There's plenty who don't, believe me. If they did, I doubt this pretty lady's head would still be on her shoulders."

That statement was enough to dampen Nell's humor.

The next several minutes were spent bringing Bobby up to speed. They told him of the various incidents all over town, how they traced the origins to the old man's place and burned his bones in the belief that his vengeful spirit was to blame, and the events of this morning that showed them they were wrong. Bobby checked out the pickup's backward-facing engine with an amused grin, nodded as John informed him of the lack of EMF, then scratched his head and said, "Well, if I had to take a guess, first thing that comes to my mind is gremlins."

Nell made a choking noise and clamped a hand over her mouth. John snapped, "Don't start with that gremlin shit. We both know they don't exist."

Bobby frowned. "What're you talkin' about? Of course they exist!"

"That's ridiculous! In the twenty-plus years I've been a Hunter, I never heard anyone even mention gremlins."

"Well, I didn't say they were _common_," Bobby retorted, "There's only maybe a few hundred in the whole world. Good thing, too, or else nothin' would ever work right."

John remained dubious. "Gremlins."

"Yeah," Bobby nodded, utterly serious, "Most Hunters who actually _know_ about 'em think they might be imps that took a fancy to technology."

John knew if he looked at Nell at that moment he would see an expression of pure smugness on her face. He continued to give all his attention to Bobby. "Okay, assuming you're not talking out of your ass, why are they only now becoming active?"

Bobby shrugged. "You said you backtracked the first incidents to some old hermit? You recall the fella's name?"

It was Nell who answered, "Lou Stevenson."

Bobby _huh_ed in thought.

"You knew him?" John asked.

"Knew _of_ him. He was a Hunter, but he retired, hell, thirty years ago."

John mulled over this new information. "The newspaper said his property was full of old cars that the city had hauled away."

"Would getting rid of those cars have something to do with the gremlins acting up?" Nell asked.

"It might," Bobby said, "What's say we go check 'em out?"

"I guess we'll take your truck," John muttered.

Thankfully, the wrecker's cab was roomy enough for all three of them. Nell discovered strange markings all over the interior. "What're these?"

"Different wards and protective spells," Bobby explained, "There's more under the hood and inside the wheel wells. Nothin' that ain't human is gonna mess with _this_ ride."

Nell turned to John. "Why aren't there any of these in _your_ truck?"

John scowled at the faded knees of his jeans. "I was getting around to it."

Bobby snorted, "He's been sayin' that for years."

They arrived at the local salvage yard, where Bobby smooth-talked the proprietor into showing him where all of Stevenson's vehicles were stowed. It only took a couple of minutes of close examination before John and Bobby both found what they were looking for. John pointed at the door of an ancient Studebaker whose original color was long since lost to the mists of time and a great deal of rust. "See these markings?"

Nell nodded, though to her the jagged lines and whorls looked more like someone got creative when they keyed the car. "What are they?"

"A protective ward," he replied, "Eastern European, pre-Christian by the look of it."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "This type of ward's most effective against minor demons, like imps."

"So..." Nell frowned, "These symbols are supposed to keep them out?"

"In this case, I'm bettin' they were meant to keep them _in_."

"Oh! So, the old guy was keeping them locked up. And when these marked-up cars were taken away-"

"They basically threw the prison doors wide open," John concluded.

"Wow," Nell stared at the rusty car, "We just torched that old dude for no reason."

"Any Hunter would've done the same," Bobby assured her.

"Easy for you to say. It took us hours to dig up that grave and I got all cruddy and gross."

John grinned in amusement, earning him a surprised look from Bobby (if only he could have seen John when he and Nell were checking in at the hotel; he might've had a stroke). This uncharacteristic show of humanity didn't last long, however. Almost immediately John fell back into his usual militaristic Hunter-mode. "We need to figure out how to trap these imps and what to do with them when we do."

"Won't be easy," Bobby said, "Imps aren't dangerous like other demons, but they're damn near impossible to control. Herdin' cats would be less trouble."

"These gremlins like machines, right?" Nell speculated out loud, "What if we get some kinda complicated gizmo they can't resist playing with? Sort of like an ultimate brain-teaser."

John's first impulse was to shoot her idea down, but then he paused to consider it. It sounded ridiculous, but then, so did the concept of gremlins. He looked at Bobby, saw the same thoughtful expression.

"It _might_ work," John finally conceded.

Bobby nodded slowly, "We could set it in the middle of a big protective circle and hope they take the bait. It'd have to be somethin' real complicated to get their attention, though."

John met Nell's gaze and smiled. "I think we know somebody who could help with that."


	14. Off the Deep End

**A/N:** I've finally decided to stop prolonging the inevitable and reward you all for your patience. (Kiddies, note the rating & avert your eyes!) Hope it meets expectations. Enjoy. ;-)

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>John placed the call to the Roadhouse and arranged a meeting at Bobby's place; they all agreed it would be best to work on the trap <em>outside<em> the gremlin-infested town. Bobby towed John's truck, John and Nell riding along with him. They arrived at the salvage yard a few hours before Ash showed up in a rattling old VW Beetle that seemed to be held together mainly by bumper stickers bearing such pithy phrases as GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE, BULLETS DO and I DIDN'T CLIMB TO THE TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN TO EAT SALAD and, oddly, ENTROPY HAPPENS. The Beetle's engine died with a cough and the gangly Ash unfolded himself from the cramped vehicle, tossing his head back so the long hair of his mullet flowed behind him. "Wassup?" he drawled.

John didn't mince words, "We need your help to build a gremlin trap."

"Gremlins," the oddball nodded sagely, "Rockin'."

He immediately commandeered Bobby's workshop and spent the next twelve hours simply designing what they'd eventually build. In the meantime John and Bobby worked on fixing the mess the gremlins made of John's pickup. Nell tried to help at first, but after about an hour of mostly handing over the tools the guys requested, she caved in to the boredom and decided to kill time in Bobby's house. Like its owner, she dug the place the second she laid eyes on it. Books of all kinds, most of them old, some in languages she didn't even recognize, were stacked here and there all over the place. Scattered amongst this bizarre library were a variety of artifacts and weapons ("Careful 'bout touchin' anything," Bobby admonished her, "Some of that stuff's loaded."). It was hard to stay bored with so many weird things to look at. When the guys eventually came inside, all covered with engine grease and sweat, Nell was curled up in a frayed old easy chair with a huge volume on obscure spirits splayed out on her lap.

"Ash still planning?" John asked.

Nell nodded to the closed door leading to the workshop. The muffled strains of Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever" could be heard. "He's still going at it. Either that or he's getting seriously baked in there."

Bobby snorted in amusement and started down a hallway. "I'm gonna take a shower. You can use the other one upstairs, if ya want, John."

John, sprawled in a tired heap on an equally tired sofa, grunted acknowledgment. Once Bobby was out of sight, he turned to Nell and asked, "You good for now, or are we gonna have to make a trip into town?"

Nell cleared her throat. "Uh, actually, Ash let me draw a pint from him. I'm good for a while."

John frowned. For some reason, her taking blood from someone they knew didn't quite sit well with him. It almost felt like jealousy, which was ridiculous. It was just food to her, for god's sake!

"Good," he muttered tersely. He got up from the couch—the springs groaned in relief—and headed for the stairs. "I'm gonna go wash some of this crap off. Let me know if Ash emerges from his lair."

Nell smirked. "I will."

A few minutes after John disappeared upstairs, Nell set the book aside and went into the kitchen. She expected Bobby to have a typical bachelor's fridge; something along the lines of a six-pack and a half-empty jar of pickles. What she found instead were several containers of spaghetti and meatballs. Apparently, Bobby cooked a batch large enough to last him over a week. Nell grabbed four containers and heated them in the microwave. By the time Bobby and John returned from their freshening-up, three of the now warm meals were arranged on the table and Nell was carrying the fourth over to Ash's door. She pounded on the door with her fist, hoping he noticed over the din of southern rock music and his own distraction. "Ash! Food!"

The door was jerked open, Ash's thin arm darted out to yank the food from her grasp, and the door slammed shut again. "You're welcome," Nell muttered sarcastically. She returned to the kitchen to find the others already digging in. She took her seat without a word and picked up her fork. The spaghetti wasn't half bad, all things considered.

They ate in relative silence, and when they were done Bobby gathered up the dishes to wash them. Despite all the clutter, he actually kept a fairly clean home. Nell found it strange, because he didn't strike her as the type to care about domestic stuff like vacuuming. It made her wonder if maybe he was married at some point. Some women liked to train their husbands on the finer points of keeping house. It would also explain the size of the house; way too big for just one person. If that was the case with Bobby, where was the wife now? Were they divorced or...

Or was her absence the reason Bobby became a Hunter? Nell hoped it wasn't so.

John yawned; even though it was quiet, Bobby still noticed. "You can use the spare room if ya wanna have a lie down. Doesn't look like Ash is gonna be ready anytime soon."

"Thanks." John stood, left the kitchen.

Bobby threw Nell an apologetic look. "Sorry, didn't think about you. You, uh, can sleep in my bed if ya want. I'll take the couch."

Nell thought about it, but something told her she wouldn't be able to sleep all that well in someone else's bed. Bobby was a good guy, but...his scent was all wrong. Then Nell thought about whose scent was _right_ and a strange mixture of excitement and unease rose in her. "No, thanks," she said quickly, "I'm not tired."

"Well, I sure as hell am," Bobby sighed, putting the last dish in the drying rack and draining the sink. "I'm gonna hit the sack, then. If ya need anything, don't be shy 'bout waking me. Some of the stuff I keep here's pretty damn dangerous and rummaging around ain't the best idea."

Nell promised not to stick her fingers into anything, then she and Bobby said their goodnights and Nell was soon left on her own with only the distant sound of Ash's soundtrack to keep her company. She wandered around for a while, checking out the strange objects littering the house. Lounged on the couch and flicked through random channels on the TV. A strange restlessness had taken hold of her. It was nighttime, which was when she was naturally most active, but it was something more than that as well. Deep down, she already knew what it was; she just wasn't quite ready to admit it.

A couple of infomercials later, Nell finally lost patience. She turned the TV off, tossed the remote aside, and got up from the couch. She jogged up the stairs, followed John's distinctive scent trail to a door that had to lead to the spare room. It was there that she hesitated. Should she knock? He had to be asleep by now. Nell doubted he'd appreciate being woken just because she was antsy.

Nell raised her fist, lowered it, shifted from foot to foot, raised her fist again. "Shit," she growled in frustration, dropped her arm, and turned away.

"You coming in or what?" John's muffled voice reached her ears. Nell uttered a self-deprecating laugh and entered the room. Her light-sensitive eyes easily picked out the details of the darkened room. John lay on his side in a queen sized bed, hair mussed and eyes squinting from interrupted sleep. Nell shut the door behind her.

"Sorry, man. I didn't wanna wake you."

"It's fine," John sat up with a grunt, ran his hand through his messy hair, "I wasn't sleeping all that great, anyway." Even though she had to be little more than a shadow to him, something in her body language made him frown in concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Nell shrugged, shoved her hands in her pockets, "Just, y'know, edgy." She'd hoped being around him would calm her, but this time his presence had the opposite effect. Nell regretted coming here and wished she could think of an excuse to leave.

John nodded in sympathy. "I never much liked waiting, either." He reached out, turned on the bedside lamp. Nell blinked at the sudden (though dim) light, her eyes gleaming like an animal's. When John first saw that affect in other vampires, he found it eerie; proof that they were inhuman creatures waiting for extermination. He didn't find it eerie in Nell, though. Instead, he thought her glowing eyes were oddly beautiful.

John wasn't oblivious to what was happening. There was a tension growing between them, both frightening and elating. Frightening because they both knew the pain they would be made vulnerable to; elating because neither of them thought they'd ever experience this feeling again.

He stood and walked towards her, hands in his pockets, mirroring her posture. He had on a T-shirt and jeans, but his feet were bare, not even socks on. They hardly made a sound as he tread across the floorboards. "I suppose we could think up a way to kill some time if we put our heads together."

"Like what?" Nell tilted her head, "Checkers? Yahtzee? Strip poker?"

John snorted at that last suggestion. "Or we could watch a movie."

"Sure!" She flashed a coy smile, "Think Bobby's got a copy of _Gremlins_?"

He rolled his eyes. "That's pretty lame even for you."

"Sorry. I'm a little off my game."

They were close enough to each other now that Nell had to tilt her head a little to meet his gaze. Having always been a tall woman, she found something enjoyable about having to look up at the six-foot-two Hunter.

"Was Bobby ever married?" she blurted the question out of the blue. She instantly regretted asking it when she saw John's expression turn sober.

"Yeah," he said, his voice somber, "His wife's name was Karen. A demon possessed her. Bobby didn't know anything about devil's traps or exorcisms back then. The only thing he could do was..."

Nell's throat tightened. "He killed her."

John nodded. "Yeah."

Nell looked away from him, blinking rapidly. "Did everybody who became a Hunter lose somebody?"

"Pretty much," John sighed, "You're something of an anomaly. Aside from being a vampire, that is."

"Not really," she said, "I lost Harrison."

"But you lost him to a Hunter, not a supernatural being."

"He died protecting me," Nell swallowed a lump in her throat, "He died _because_ of me. So, I _did_ lose him to a supernatural being, in a way."

John took another step closer. "My point is, most people become Hunters to take revenge on the things that destroyed the people they loved. I'm still wondering what your reason is."

"I told you. I was curious-"

"That's not the main reason," he interrupted.

Nell thought about it. "I guess...I wanna prove that I'm not a monster."

John smiled. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm convinced."

"That's a relief," she grinned, "I'd hate to hafta kick your ass again.

"If by kicking my ass you mean running away," he retorted.

Nell scoffed, "I was only trying to avoid causing _you_ permanent damage."

"Come on! I had the upper hand and we both know it."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, cowboy."

John's smile thinned, a dangerous gleam came to his eyes. "I warned you about calling me cowboy." He lunged and kissed her without warning. It was little more than a peck on the lips, but when he pulled away they were both flushed with embarrassment. He'd acted purely out of impulse and was every bit as shocked as Nell by what he did.

They stared at each other for a long beat, then both started laughing. Giggling, really, like nervous kids. It took several minutes for them to get a hold of themselves, and neither one of them could look at each other for fear of losing it again.

Nell's cheeks were so red she looked ready to burst into flame. She struggled to think of something to say. "Um..."

She raised her head and her eyes locked with John's. Something snapped. Nell's hands grabbed either side of John's head and pulled him into another kiss, this one far deeper than the one before. John didn't even try to move away from her. One hand went to the back of Nell's head, the other to the small of her back, crushing her against him. Her body felt so slight in his arms, yet so powerful. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring its contours and rolling against her tongue. Sharp points scraped his lips and he realized her second set of teeth had descended. He tasted his own blood; no more than a few drops. Nell moaned.

They finally ended the kiss, both panting heavily, their arms still around each other. Nell saw John run his tongue over his sore lips and she looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I...I wasn't trying to feed. It's just-"

"That I taste so good?" John grinned.

Nell uttered a small, embarrassed laugh. "Actually, yeah." Her hands slowly slid to his chest, seeming to move of their own accord. "I can hear your heart beating," she whispered, "I can hear the blood moving through you. I'm so used to these sounds in other people I barely notice anymore, but with you I hear it so clearly. And it doesn't make me think about feeding." She looked at him then, her eyes so intensely green they were like jade. John wanted to fall into them. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she pulled back. "If we do this, it's for life," she reminded him, frightened and hopeful.

John smiled and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "I know. It's insane. Anyone would say we've both gone off the deep end." He didn't say "if we go through with it," which didn't escape her notice.

"But?" she prompted.

He shook his head. "But nothing. They'd be right. I just can't bring myself to give a damn."

Nell's laugh was cut short when John yanked her close and kissed her again. His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck. He nipped at her fair skin, his teeth leaving red marks that quickly faded. Nell giggled nipped at his earlobe, drawing the tiniest drop of blood which she sucked from the lobe, her saliva healing the miniscule wound. She tugged at his shirt impatiently. "Take it off before I rip it off."

John stepped back and slipped his T-shirt off, let it drop to the floor. Nell's gaze roamed over his exposed torso: muscular without being bulky, a patch of dark hair on his chest with a thin trail leading down and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She met his amused stare and grinned. "Not bad for a dude in his fifties," she said.

John chuckled, reached out and lifted her shirt from her, Nell cooperatively lifting her arms. Once the garment was tossed aside, John undid her ponytail. He smiled as she shook out her long golden curls. He then reached around to unclasp her bra. Nell slipped the straps off her shoulders and let it fall, then abruptly crossed her arms over her breasts, slightly anxious. John was surprised; he never figured her for the self-conscious type. He took hold of her wrists and and gently pulled them away. He smiled in admiration of what he saw. The protective charm he'd given her rested in the valley between her perfect breasts, glittering in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp. "You're not too shabby, yourself," he said.

"Gee, thanks," she laughed, "I feel all warm and tingly." She gasped; John's hands were on her breasts, large and warm, the pads of his thumbs circling her nipples.

"Me too," he breathed.

It wasn't long before the rest of their clothes were scattered around the room. Nell had been startled to see John's hands shake as he fumbled with his belt. _He's as nervous as I am,_ she realized. This didn't make her any less trembly herself, but it did make her less embarrassed about it. It was, after all, the first time in a long time for both of them. It wasn't what one would imagine; no silent tears or slow caresses. They laughed at their own clumsiness and at the discovery that there was no sense of guilt or sorrow. This moment between them was simple happiness.

John lifted Nell into his arms and walked them towards the bed, her legs coiled around his waist, his mouth latched onto her left nipple. Nell moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, grinding herself against his erection. John sat down on the edge of the bed and Nell adjusted her position to straddle him, her knees on either side of his thighs. Her hand snaked down and wrapped around his member. John threw his head back and groaned as she stroked him with a teasing smile, then maneuvered herself over him. John grabbed her hips and pulled her down, grunting as he sank into her warmth.

Nell cupped his face in her hands, kissed him deeply. Her hips moved in rolling thrusts. John put his arms around her and flipped them onto the bed. Nell lay on her back with her long hair splayed over the sheets. She gasped as John slammed into her again and again, almost brutally. She rose to meet him each time and laughed, the joyous sound spurring him on.

"Nell..." he rasped. Her eyes opened. There was no fear or regret in them and John knew she saw the same in his.

"It's happening," she whispered. Her eyes widened; she felt it. It happened in an instant that stretched on like an eternity, an experience she'd been through only once before, with Harrison; the forming of a connection that would last a lifetime. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. A broad smile lit up her entire face. And when the moment passed, she came.

The tightening of her inner walls triggered John's climax. His body tensed and a long, drawn-out groan escaped from between his clenched jaws. Then he shuddered and it seemed like all his muscles turned into Jell-O. He tried to roll off Nell before he collapsed on top of her, but she held onto him. He looked down at her tired smile. "I'm stronger than you are, remember?" she said, "I'm not gonna break."

Though he knew she was right, John was still reluctant to put all his weight on her. He supported himself on trembling arms until his strength finally gave out and his body settled on top of hers.

"See?" she chided, "I'm fine." She kissed him, her hands tracing the expanse of his back. John let out a happy rumble that almost sounded like a purr. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so comforted. He nibbled at Nell's collarbone and she chuckled.

"We've really done it this time," John smirked, "Now we're stuck with each other."

"You're stuck with me, anyway," Nell clarified, "The imprinting only goes one way, since you're human."

John ran his fingers through her tangled hair. "I don't believe in one-way relationships."

"So," she hesitated, "No second thoughts? No 'Oh, shit, what've I gotten myself into' panic attacks?"

John chuckled. "Well, it's kinda late for second thoughts. We've already done the deed. As for panic attacks," he shook his head, "I know what I've gotten myself into. I think I knew the second I said yes to you helping me on that first hunt."

"_After_ you tried to kill me," Nell reminded him with a mock frown.

John grimaced. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Nope. Y'know, you never really apologized for that, either."

"Oh, well, allow me to correct that oversight," his lips met hers in a lingering kiss, followed by shorter pecks every couple of words, "I'm sorry...I tried...to kill...you."

Nell's smile got wider after each kiss until she was giggling. "Well, you did sorta marry me just now, so I guess I can let it slide this once." She found her eyes drifting towards the ring on his left hand, wondering if she might've made a poor choice of words.

John noticed where her attention went and held up his left hand, staring at the wedding band on his finger. "It's okay," he said, "Wherever Mary and Harrison are, they know we don't love them any less."

Nell swallowed. "You really think part of 'em still...still exists?"

He nodded, "I've seen too many ghosts and spirits _not_ to believe it."

Something like relief flickered in her expression. "I'm glad. It tore me up for a while, wondering if there really was any kind of afterlife or if Harrison just...ended. I'm glad he isn't totally gone." She lightly touched the side of his face. "D'you think we'll go to the same place as them when we finally die?"

John's smile held a touch of sadness. "I hope so. Though I was under the impression that vampires are immortal." He quirked an eyebrow.

Nell scoffed, "Please, I'm not under the illusion that just 'cause I can't die from natural causes doesn't mean I'm not gonna die someday. Nobody lives forever."

John thought about the yellow-eyed demon, a creature that had probably existed since the world began and had every reason to believe it would be around long after humans were out of the picture—snuffed out by a magic bullet. "You're right," he mused, "And when Bobby finds out what we just did, he might even prove it."

"How's he gonna find out? I mean, we don't have to tell him."

John gave her a doubtful look, "He'll know. I don't think much of anything gets by him."

After giving it some thought, Nell had to agree. "I guess just about everyone's gonna be against this," she said glumly.

"I hope my sons aren't." She heard the anguish in John's voice, though he tried to hide it.

Nell nudged him and they rolled onto their sides. She propped herself up on her elbow and gazed down at him, her expression serious. "You weren't the one who imprinted," she reminded him, "You can decide. If it gets to be too much, you can still walk away."

John stared up at her for a long time, then leaned up on his elbow, his other hand cupping the back of her head, and kissed her. "I already made my decision," he said, resting his forehead against hers, "I won't leave you. I might get taken from you someday, but I won't ever leave you."

Nell's throat constricted. "This is nuts," she croaked, "We've only known each other-"

"How long did you know Harrison before you knew he was the one?" John interrupted.

Nell blinked, then frowned in thought. "I...I don't know. It's like I always knew it was him even before I met him."

John smiled and nodded. "The same for me with Mary," he stroked her face, "The same with you."

A slow smile spread across her eternally youthful features. "John."

"Yeah, Nell?"

She leaned closer. "Let's have sex again, cowboy," she whispered in his ear, then licked it.

John shuddered in pleasure. He cupped her breast, marveling at how perfectly it fit in his palm. Then, with a deep chuckle, he pushed her down onto the bed and covered her slender body with his.


	15. The Trojan Pinto

**A/N:** The language style for the gremlins was somewhat inspired by the magical "vermin" in the graphic novel series _Castle Waiting_ by Linda Medley. If you haven't read it, you should. It's delightful! :-D

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>John watched Nell sleep as he got dressed. It was morning, the bright sunlight outside hidden behind the heavy curtains John kept drawn. He didn't want Nell to wake yet; he liked the way she looked, tangled up in the bedsheets, her hair all messy, a faint smile on her lips which were still swollen from kissing. He had to admit to a sense of masculine pride that he was the one who put that smile on her face.<p>

He hadn't gotten through last night entirely unscathed, either. Not surprisingly, Nell was a biter. Her bites were never deep, and the healing properties of her saliva ensured there were no marks left behind, but John still felt a lingering soreness. He smirked to himself; boy, did he feel it.

Dressed in everything but his shoes, John padded barefoot out of the room and carefully shut the door behind him. He descended the stairs, not surprised to find Bobby already up and paging through one of his many books on devil's traps and protective circles, probably mulling over which would be best for trapping imps. Bobby's expression turned sly as he glanced up at John's approach. "Morning, John. Sleep alright?"

"Fine," John answered innocently, detouring into the kitchen to grab himself a cup of coffee, "And you?"

Bobby licked a finger and turned the page in his book. "Any ideas where your vampire friend might've run off to? I kinda expected to find her asleep on the couch, but I haven't seen hide or hair of her since I got up."

"Oh, I'm sure she's around." John sat down in an empty chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"Uhuh," Bobby replied evenly, "I notice you're in pretty good spirits. Funny, I don't recall you bein' much of a morning person."

"What? It's a nice morning."

"Sure, especially if you didn't wake alone." Bobby quirked an eyebrow.

John grinned, then his expression turned serious. "It's not just a fling. I mean Nell, she can't just have a one night stand like..."

"Like a human?" Bobby nodded in understanding, "I know."

"You don't think it's a good idea." John wasn't sure if it was a question or an accusation.

Bobby closed the book and set it aside, folded his hands on the table before him, his expression thoughtful. "When's the last time you were seriously drunk?"

John blinked at this apparent non-sequitur. "Hell, I don't know," he thought about it, "Couple of weeks ago, maybe."

"Before you met Nell."

"Right." John frowned in puzzlement.

"C'mon, John," Bobby cajoled, "We both know how it goes with you. You go out on a hunt and when the job's done, you get soused. That's been the pattern long as I've known you. Damned depressing sight, lemme tell ya. But now you've barely even touched the beers I got in the fridge."

John realized with something akin to shock that he was right. "And you're saying that's a bad thing?"

"Hell no, it ain't a bad thing!" Bobby huffed, "I'm sayin' that girl's good for ya. She's motivated you into actin' like a human being again. I don't need to tell you there ain't that many Hunters lucky enough to find someone like that."

"She's a vampire," John reminded him.

Bobby shrugged. "So? Who says luck doesn't have a sense of irony?"

John let out an amused snort, relieved that one of his oldest friends didn't condemn this new turn his relationship with Nell had taken.

The door to the workroom burst open at that moment and Ash staggered out, eyes bloodshot and slightly crazed from lack of sleep. "All done!" he announced cheerfully.

"The plans for your gremlin trap's ready?" Bobby asked.

"Dude, that's what I just said! Wait'll you see it," Ash grinned enthusiastically, "It rocks."

"Let me go wake Nell first." John got up and headed for the stairs.

"Oh, so you _do_ know where she's at," Bobby teased.

John threw a dirty look over his shoulder before vanishing from sight. Bobby chuckled.

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><p>Nell woke to the feel of something tickling her ear. She swatted it away and snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets. A second later, that irritating tickle was back. She waved her hand around a little more frantically, her eyes still stubbornly closed. Suddenly, her blanket was yanked away. Nell let out a petulant whine as she curled into a tight ball against the chill.<p>

"Wakey-wakey," a familiar deep voice rumbled in her ear, "Eggs and bakey."

She cracked an eye open. "There's bacon and eggs?" she slurred.

John grinned, "No, but there will be if you get out of bed right now."

Nell weighed the merits of breakfast over the immediate coziness of the bed. "Don't wanna," she decided, reaching for the covers.

John laughed and scooped her up in his arms. Nell squirmed and yelled as he carried her over to where most of her discarded clothes lay in a pile and set her on her feet. Her toes curled on the bare floor. "Jerk," she grumbled, picking up her clothes, "Dragging me outta bed against my will. And after I had sex with you, too."

John grinned and handed Nell her shirt. She snatched it from him without a word of thanks and put it on, then tied her hair back in a messy ponytail. "How do I look?" she asked without much enthusiasm.

"Like you woke up after a wild night," John answered, looking rather pleased with himself.

Nell rolled her eyes. "I don't like you when you're happy, dude. Can't you go back to being all gloomy?"

John snorted. "Maybe later. I'm still riding high on endorphins."

"Gotta love the endorphins." Nell gave him a sidelong look. "So...didya tell Bobby about, y'know, us?"

"Didn't have to," John said.

Nell pursed her lips. "What'd he say?"

"He said you're good for me."

"Seriously?" she laughed, "Man, I had no idea you were that bad off."

"I was," John admitted, his words sobering her.

Nell shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and shrugged. "Well, then I guess you're good for me, too."

John cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss. Nell jerked away with a laugh. "Eew!" she wrinkled her nose, "Coffee breath!"

"You've got morning breath," he retorted.

"Yeah, but my morning breath is awesome."

John laughed, shaking his head. "Come on. Ash is done with his designs. Now we've gotta work out how to put the damn thing together."

"Sounds like a blast."

The two of them went downstairs where Ash and Bobby waited. Arrayed on the table where Bobby had done his reading earlier were pages of blueprints so complicated they hurt Nell's eyes to look at. "We're supposed to build _that?_ Dude, I can barely figure out how to assemble those cheap bookcases you get from Wal-Mart."

Ash explained, "I divided the plans so's we can work on different parts at the same time, then put the whole thing together when we're done." He handed a sheet to John and another to Bobby, keeping the third for himself.

Although she readily admitted she wasn't mechanically inclined, Nell couldn't help but feel a bit slighted. "What am I supposed to do?"

Bobby passed her a sheet of paper. On it was a bizarre and complicated image he'd apparently photocopied from one of his books. This is the devil's trap we're gonna use to keep the imps from runnin' off once they take the bait," he told her, "It wasn't easy finding the right one. Unlike most other demons, imps are corporeal. What affects their meaner, tougher, bodiless cousins won't necessarily work on them. It took some diggin', but I think this particular circle will do the trick."

"And you want me to draw this?" Nell squinted at the numerous squiggles and lines.

Bobby reached over and turned the page rightside-up in her hand. "Yep. I got a flatbed trailer we're gonna haul the whole thing on and the trap's gotta be drawn on that. And it has to look exactly like the picture or it won't work."

It occurred to Nell that she was being given the most important part of the whole plan. Ash's gremlin bait was complicated and impressive, but it was still only a means of luring the imps into the actual trap. A trap which Nell had to copy perfectly from this slightly gritty Xerox.

"No problem," she said, not a trace of nervousness in her voice, "So what do I use, spray paint?"

"Draw it in chalk first," Bobby suggested, "When you're sure it's right, then use paint."

After the promised breakfast of bacon and eggs, Bobby took her to where he'd left the flatbed parked in a shaded area where the sun wouldn't bother her so much. Nell appreciated his thoughtfulness. While the guys toiled away on Ash's gizmo, she spent the next several hours tediously copying every symbol, rune, and emblem in larger scale onto the trailer's surface. John had mentioned some devil's traps were fairly easy; he'd even memorized a few. But this one was absurdly complicated. The fact that it was meant to contain "simpler" entities such as imps only made the task that much more galling.

It took a lot of erasing and re-jotting to get everything situated in the right place on the much larger surface, but eventually she was satisfied with what she had and started painting over the chalked lines with a can of bright orange spray paint. It took two full cans to get it all done. By the time she was finished it was late evening and her head buzzed from the paint fumes. And from hunger, but not for ordinary food. Nell cursed herself for letting her need for blood slip her mind. She couldn't take another pint from Ash two days in a row, she'd already fed off John after the myling attack not very long ago, which left the options of either hoping Bobby would let her draw a pint from him or rushing into town to make a hasty purchase. She was pretty sure Bobby would say yes, though.

As if waiting for her silent cue, Bobby, John, and Ash made an appearance. All of them were exhausted, covered in sweat, grime, and engine grease.

"How's it comin'?" Bobby asked.

"It's done," Nell replied, "Paint's drying as we speak."

Bobby hopped up onto the trailer to survey her handiwork. He picked up the printout and compared it to what Nell had done. After a couple of minutes, he gave a single nod of approval. "Looks good. This oughta do the trick."

Nell couldn't resist a proud smile. "What about you guys? You still working on the gizmo?"

"It's almost finished," Bobby said, "We've got a little more work to do before we assemble the three parts, then it's a done deal."

"Awesome. Hey, uh," she shifted awkwardly, "Would it be okay if I drew a pint from you? It's cool if you don't want to," she added hastily, "I'm just hoping to get it done before the craving gets stronger."

Bobby seemed a little surprised by her request, but nodded readily enough. "I'm okay with it."

Nell smiled in relief. "Thanks, man."

Neither of them noticed John's frown.

As they all headed back towards the house to wash up and eat a late lunch/early dinner, John maneuvered himself closer to Nell and murmured, "Why didn't you ask me?"

"What, for blood?"

He nodded, his expression hard.

"Because it's too soon," she explained, "You need at least three weeks to replace the red blood cells I took from you. I mean, I _could_ feed from you again, but it wouldn't be a good idea."

"Oh." It was such a reasonable explanation he felt kind of silly for bringing it up.

Nell smirked at him. "Were you jealous?"

"No," he scoffed, "I was just wondering."

Smiling, she linked her arm with his. "It's just food, cowboy," she said, "If it meant anything else, I wouldn't even think of asking anybody else but you. I couldn't cheat even if I wanted to, which I sure as hell don't."

John smiled apologetically. "I know. I just wasn't really thinking all that rationally."

She shrugged. "Happens to the best of us, dude."

Nell stared in befuddlement at the large object before her. "A Pinto?" she asked in disbelief, "You guys spent the whole day working on a _Pinto?_"

"That's just the Pinto's chassis," Ash stated, "It's camouflage."

"Right, 'cause nothing says incognito like the burned-out husk of a Seventies-era car."

"It'll look more plausible when we're hauling it on the flatbed," John assured her, though he might have been more convincing if there hadn't been a hint of doubt in his expression while he said it.

"Check out the interior," Ash beckoned, "It's one of a kind!"

Nell peered through the driver's side window, her eyebrows rose in amazement. "It looks like a mini amusement park in there! You built all this in one day?"

"Yeah, I can't believe it either," Bobby grinned.

"That there's the most complicated and useless mechanism known to man," Ash declared proudly, "Guaranteed to lure inquisitive gremlins like roaches to a Roach Motel."

"Then we haul the whole thing off and the town's machine troubles are over," Bobby concluded, "Problem solved."

"Then what?" Nell asked.

The three men paused. "What d'you mean?" John asked.

"I mean, what are we gonna do with the gremlins once we catch them?"

Bobby replied, "Well, normally when we capture demons, we exorcise them. Send 'em back to Hell."

Nell winced. "Kinda harsh, isn't it? It's not like they've been going around killing people. They're just fooling around with their cars and appliances."

"Even if they don't mean any harm," John reasoned, "it's only a matter of time before one of their pranks goes wrong and somebody winds up badly hurt or killed. These imps are too dangerous to be allowed to run loose."

Nell wasn't ready to concede yet. "I'm not saying we should, but is banishing them to Hell really necessary? Couldn't we keep them corralled someplace like that old Hunter, Lou Stevenson, did before he croaked?"

"Where exactly d'you suggest we keep 'em?" Bobby asked.

Nell looked at their surroundings, shrugged. "How 'bout here?"

"What!" John laughed incredulously.

"Dude!" Ash exclaimed, "That'd be so cool. It'd be, like, Gremlin City."

"It's not cool, it's ridiculous," John stated.

Bobby, however, looked thoughtful. "Y'know..."

John gaped. "You're not seriously considering it."

"Why not?" the Hunter shrugged, "Lou Stevenson managed it for decades. His only mistake was not takin' into account what'd happen after he died. I've already divvied out most of my books and artifacts in my will. All I hafta do is add a clause makin' sure nobody messes with the wards that'll keep the imps in place. Simple."

Nell turned to John with a smug grin. "See? Simple. And nobody has to die or get exorcised."

John wanted to argue against this; Hunters didn't let the supernatural live, it wasn't their style. That wasn't a lifelong habit he could casually shake off. But one look at Nell's silent pleading cut off whatever protests he had. _She's corrupting me,_ he thought , not entirely certain it was a joke.

He gritted his teeth. "If Bobby's okay with it," he ground out, "I'll go along. Doesn't mean I think it's the smartest choice, though."

Bobby smiled ruefully. "Then I guess we're gonna spend the rest of the day buildin' one big-ass imp enclosure here in the salvage yard."

Nell groaned, "Shit, I didn't think of that."

"You suggested it," Bobby pointed out, "You brought it on yourself."

John chuckled.

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><p>The next morning they hoisted their Trojan Pinto onto the flatbed, hitched the wrecker to the trailer, and headed into the gremlin-infested town. John had generously volunteered to remain behind and finish the last touches on the new wards encircling Bobby's entire scrapyard, so Nell found herself wedged between Bobby and Ash in the wrecker's cab. It really wasn't as snug as it sounded; Ash was a pretty skinny guy.<p>

The town of Creation was really starting to show the strain of its gremlin infestation. Cars were parked haphazardly, pushed to the side of the street when their engines or some other part inexplicably failed. Harried men and women rushed to work on foot, not even trusting bicycles to get them where they needed to go. And everyone eyed every machine and electric light with distrust.

Bobby drove into the area of town currently showing the most activity. He pulled into a convenient alley where they wouldn't block the nonexistent traffic and killed the engine.

"How do we know when we catch them?" Nell asked.

"You'll know," Ash replied in what he probably thought was a sage tone of voice. Nell and Bobby shared a look, then settled down to wait. Miraculously, they didn't have to wait long.

At first Nell thought there was an ice cream truck somewhere nearby—the jingling chimes held the sort of cheery melody she associated with hot summer days in the suburban town she grew up in—but as the noise grew louder and more discordant, she realized it was coming from the Pinto. Nell turned around and peered out the back glass. She had a fairly unobstructed view through the Pinto's windshield and saw all the bits and pieces of Ash's complex gizmo shifting around in patterns that made her dizzy, like staring at a moving piece of op art. "Does that mean it's working?"

Ash grinned and nodded.

"Holy shit, it's working!"

"Looks like it," Bobby agreed, looking pleased.

"How do we know if we got all of them?"

"We don't," Bobby answered, "But there's a school of thought among some Hunters that imps tend to stick in close-knit tribes. Even if we don't have 'em all now, the stragglers are bound to follow once we start movin' out."

The musical clamor ended as abruptly as it began. "What happened?" Nell asked.

Ash replied, "Guess they're done playing."

"That didn't take long."

"Yeah, the little bastards work fast," Bobby said, starting up the wrecker's engine, "Doesn't matter. They ain't goin' anywhere, thanks to the devil's trap."

The drive back to the salvage yard went without a hitch. The flatbed with its supernatural cargo was soon taken into one of the largest protective circles in the world. They weren't about to let the imps out of the trap just yet, however. First, they needed to learn the ground rules.

"You sure they'll talk?" John asked, more than a little dubious.

"No reason they shouldn't," Bobby said, "They know we're onto them." He knocked on the Pinto's passenger window. "Ya hear that, you pests? We know you're in there."

"Come on out, varmints," Ash muttered. Nell clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a fit of giggles.

Slowly, half a dozen little green heads peeped over the door. Their features were lumpy, their ears long and pointed, eyes huge and watery. They looked like a cross between elves and toads. Nell was smitten at the sight of them. "Aw, look at those little guys," she waved at them, "Hi!"

The imps flashed their snaggle-toothed grins and waved their tiny hands back at her.

"You fellas ready to talk?" Bobby interjected.

One of the imps ducked out of sight. There was a squeak of protesting gears and the window lowered a few inches, allowing the gremlins to stick their heads out. "Yaz'r!" one of them responded in a raspy, high-pitched voice.

"You know why we trapped ya?"

The creatures' pointy ears drooped. "Yaz'r," the apparent leader nodded somberly, "We make trubba."

"That's right," Bobby said patiently, "You were givin' folks back at the town a lotta grief, messin' around with stuff you had no business getting into."

"Can't hep it!" the imp protested, "Move-y tings, sparky tings, big puzza pieces. Wanna see hows dey work. Don' wanna make trubba. We jus' wanna play!"

"We miss Unka Lou!" another gremlin squeaked, "Unka Lou play wit us. Brings us new tings to play wit. Den he go kaput and no more playtime for long, long time." The little creature sniffled and one of its companions patted its shoulder in commiseration.

Nell looked at John and cocked an eyebrow. "These are demons?"

John had to admit they were the least demonic demons he'd ever encountered. Their cartoonish behavior and ridiculous appearances made them almost endearing.

"'Unka Lou'?" Bobby frowned, "You mean Lou Stevenson, the Hunter who kept you all out at his place?"

"Yaz'r!" The imps nodded, ears flopping.

"Huh! I always heard he was a bit of a hard-ass. Looks like he had a soft spot for these critters," Bobby mused. He leaned in a little closer to the trapped imps. "See this scrapyard we're in? It's way bigger than Lou's place, and new stuff's comin' in all the time. I got wards set up all around so's none of ya can leave it. If you promise not to give me any grief, I'll let ya have the run of the place. You can fool around with all these junk cars and whatnot till the cows come home. What d'you say?"

"All dese tings we can play wit?" the lead gremlin asked, shocked by their good fortune.

"Long as you promise to behave yourselves. Don't mess with anything I tell you not to."

The imps jumped up and down with excitement, even the ones hidden amongst the machinery, so much so that the Pinto rocked back and forth. "Noz'r! No trubba! We promise!"

"You play wit us, too?" the leader asked, "Like Unka Lou?"

"Uh..."

John turned his head aside and bit his lip, a strangled sound escaping him. Bobby glared at him.

"C'mon, 'Unka Bobby'," Nell teased, "Don't be a spoilsport."

The Hunter sighed. "Fine. If I have any spare time."

"Yay!" the gremlins cheered, "Unka Bobby!"

Bobby rolled his eyes, then crouched down with his pocket knife and scraped some of the paint off the devil's trap on the flatbed. Within seconds the imps were gone, faster than the eye could follow. Nell's keen ears picked up the sounds of tiny scuttling feet and faint giggles amid the piles of derelict cars and scrapped machinery that surrounded them.

Ash leaned against the now empty Pinto with a satisfied grin. "I love happy endings, man."

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><p><strong>AN:** Don't worry, this isn't the end of the story yet. ;-)


	16. Soft and Deep

**A/N:** Some fluff and John/Nell lovin' in this chapter. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester, nor do I own any of the catchy tunes from Disney's _Mary Poppins_.**

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><p>Nell hadn't realized how much she'd missed sex, but once she and John ended her decade-long dry spell she felt like a starving woman who'd been given one of those giant sandwiches that took up an entire table and told to dig in. The analogy was more accurate than she would've liked; every time she glanced at John she thought, <em>I'd love to take a bite outta him.<em> It was kind of embarrassing.

It was easier not to dwell on her resurrected libido while the sun was dragging her down, but with night falling, it was all she could do not to (literally) throw him over her shoulder and run to the bedroom. Sadly, something told her the only thing he'd be interested in at this point was sleep. John and Bobby were both exhausted from their long day of constructing their elaborate gremlin bait and rounding up the imps. Ash was the only one who showed any liveliness, even going so far as to drive for home (i.e. the Roadhouse) that very evening. "Place is liable to fall apart without me," he winked before climbing into his VW Beetle and trundling off.

After making sure his new "tenants" were getting settled in, Bobby hit the hay early. "My stamina ain't what it used to be," he said with a rueful grin, "If I were a little less stubborn I might consider retirin'."

John, sprawled in a chair, snorted in disbelief. Bobby said goodnight and vanished in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Nell and John alone in his living room. Nell curled up on the sofa and pretended to read a book she grabbed from a random stack, while in reality her senses were focused on the man sitting a few feet away from her. She could tell from the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat and the change in his breathing that he was moments away from nodding off. Her nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of him, and her own pulse quickened in response (yes, she still had a heartbeat; the crap about vampires being "undead" was yet another misleading myth). Nell turned a page and it was then that she realized she was holding the book upside down. She cast a furtive glance towards John and quickly flipped the book rightside-up.

John abruptly yawned and straightened up in his seat. He rose, groaning as his muscles protested against any kind of movement. He was definitely getting old. At that thought, his gaze settled on Nell and her youthful appearance suddenly hit home. She looked like a college student studying for an exam, not a fifty-something woman killing time. And she would always look that way, while everyone else around her, including John, continued to age. It wasn't envy he felt for her at that moment; it was remorse. He'd let her tie herself to him, a mortal human, who she would have to watch grow old and frail and eventually die while she remained the same, ageless and alone. And she wouldn't be able to distance herself from him because of this invisible bond between them. John couldn't think of a fate crueler than that. He wondered why the hell that didn't occur to him before it was too late to do anything about it.

As if sensing his self-recrimination, Nell looked up from the book and smiled at him. "Y'know, some people think it's rude to stare."

John's answering smile was a tad weak. "I'm gonna head upstairs."

"Okay. I'll stay down here a while. I'm still a little wired."

Something about the way her eyes kept looking him over, quick and surreptitious glances; the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips; the tension she tried to hide behind her casual posture. John's smile deepened, his dimples tempting Nell to fling her book aside and jump him right there.

"You sure you don't wanna come up with me?" his voice held a teasing note.

Nell pursed her lips, her eyes scanned the ceiling in thought. "Well, when you put it like that, maybe staying up's overrated."

Grinning, John held his hand out to her. Nell set her book aside (no flinging), stood, and accepted his outstretched hand. The two of them ascended the stairs and entered the guestroom. John flicked on the bedside lamp, sat on the edge of the bed. Nell stood in front of him, taking in his tired features. "Maybe we should get some sleep," she suggested, reconsidering.

John smiled. "I'm tired, but I'm not in the mood to sleep just yet." He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Nell's jeans and pulled her closer, eliciting a small laugh from her. Once she was standing between his knees John wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead against her stomach. Nell ran her fingers through his dark hair. John mumbled something that made her frown in confusion. "Huh?"

John tilted his head back to meet her green eyes with his brown. "I'm sorry I'm only human."

Nell blinked at him and let out a puzzled laugh. "Um, I...forgive you?"

John chuckled. "What I meant was, I'm sorry I didn't think about what my being mortal means for you. Maybe I was being selfish, getting involved with someone who I know is going to outlive me no matter what. I didn't take into consideration what you'll have to go through when I'm gone."

Nell was touched by his concern. She put her hands on his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks right where the dimples were. "And you think I didn't? I knew what I was getting myself into. If I didn't think I could live with it, I would've stopped before it went too far." She kissed his forehead. "I'm a big girl, cowboy. I know what I can handle."

John stared at her for a moment, then he lifted up the bottom of her shirt, exposing her flat stomach. His mouth placed open kisses on her belly, his tongue tickled her navel. He lifted her shirt higher and Nell obligingly raised her arms. Her ponytail came loose as the shirt slipped over her head and her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. John's kisses traveled higher while his hands unfastened her bra and slid the straps down her arms. He nuzzled her soft breasts, then his mouth closed over her right nipple.

Nell closed her eyes and tilted her head back with a sigh, losing herself in the sensations: his soft hair beneath her hands; his warm, wet mouth and agile tongue; his teeth tugging gently; his hands roaming over the expanse of her back. John released her nipple and turned his head to lavish the same attention on her other breast. His hands slid down to the waistband of her jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped the front, slid the jeans down her long legs until Nell stepped out of them. Her panties soon followed.

Now completely bare, Nell pushed John away from her chest to kiss his mouth, her hands tugging on his shirt. John stood, so close that his chest brushed against her front. He let her undress him, then he picked her up and lay her down on the bed.

This wasn't like the night before when they'd gone at it like newlyweds. They took it slow, as if memorizing every detail of their bodies with hands and mouths. They drew out the foreplay until they could no longer bear to wait, then joined together in almost perfect accord. They made love.

John wanted to remember every small detail, the feel of Nell's knees pressing into his sides, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs, her hot breath on the side of his neck, the little moans that escaped her. His climax, when it happened, came out of nowhere, startling him into crying out. He heard Nell's voice rise as well and felt her shudder beneath him. As soon as he came down, exhaustion swept over him. John barely had the energy to roll onto his side instead of collapsing on top of her. Nell lay on her back staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Then she smiled and murmured, "Definitely sleeping good tonight."

John smiled, too weary to laugh. Nell drew the covers over them and coaxed him into her arms. John pillowed his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat; slower than a human's, but just as steady. Its rhythm lulled him further into a comforting sleep.

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><p>LEONORA, KANSAS<p>

4 MONTHS AGO

Rose tried not to look desperate as the pharmacist filled out her prescription. She'd lost count of the number of drugs her doctor had put her on, but knew that this was the last and most experimental. The others had worked for a night or two, in one case for almost a full week, but then the nightmares would come back full force. The nightmares that had been slowly chipping away at her sanity for the last six months. Rose tried everything to stop them: she saw a therapist, participated in sleep disorder trials, even went to see a hypnotist. Nothing worked.

And the worst part was she'd been getting better. She was finally pulling herself out of the crippling depression that she'd lived with ever since the accident. She was learning to be happy again. Now she didn't know if she would ever experience that emotion again. If this last treatment didn't work...

She took the little diamond-shaped pills, following the instructions to the letter. Rose then knelt at the side of her bed and prayed for the medicine to work, for this curse to end. It took every ounce of courage for her to climb into bed and shut off the light. She lay in her usual position, flat on her back, hands folded on her chest, and stared out into the dark. The night noises that once brought her comfort now only reminded her that sleep and its horrors were close at hand. She might have lain fearfully awake all night if the drugs hadn't kicked in. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts became sluggish, emotions numbed. Maybe this time it would work...

_She was in the car, behind the wheel. The soundtrack to Disney's _Mary Poppins_ was in the CD Player. Molly was in the backseat, strapped into her toddler seat, trying to sing along to Julie Andrews._

"_**Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine to down**_

_**The medicine go down, medicine go down**_

_**Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down**_

_**In the most delight-ful waaay!"**_

"_Deeyiteful way!" Molly squealed, almost dropping her sippy-cup in her excitement._

_Rose laughed, watching her daughter in the rearview mirror. She was so enamored with her child she didn't see the stop sign, didn't see the huge sport utility barreling towards them. The collision was like a punch landed by an angry god. There was an ear-splitting screech of tearing metal and grinding asphalt. Rose found herself on her side—or rather, the entire car was on its side, the driver's door now facing the ground. Something dripped across her face and she wiped it away, finding her hand stained red. Red. Red heat. There was fire and smoke, reeking and burning. Strangely, she could still hear Mary Poppins singing:_

"_**Stay awake, don't rest your head**_

_**Don't lie down upon your bed**_

_**While the moon drifts in the skies**_

_**Stay awake, don't close your eyes..."**_

Molly._ The thought of her daughter jolted Rose out of her shock. She clawed at her seatbelt, yelling her little girl's name. The fire was everywhere, on the seat cushions, devouring her hair. "Molly!"_

_Legs clad in yellow turnovers and boots appeared at the cracked windshield. Something heavy and blunt struck the shatterproof glass, knocking it out of its frame, and gloved hands dragged the windshield away. Firemen reached in and one of them cut through Rose's seatbelt with a utility knife. She struggled as they started to drag her from the car. "No! My daughter's still in the back. I can't leave my baby! MOLLY!"_

"_**Though the world is fast asleep**_

_**Though your pillow's soft and deep**_

_**You're not sleepy as you seem**_

_**Stay awake, don't nod and dream..."**_

_She flailed in the fireman's grip, her arms reaching for the back of the car. All she could see was black smoke and an occasional flicker of flame. For a moment she could've sworn that she saw a pair of red eyes glaring at her. Rose screamed for her child, but heard no answer. There was nothing but the roaring fire, the firemen shouting, and the music still inexplicably blaring out of the melted speakers._

"_**Stay awake, don't nod and dream."**_

Rose sat up with a jerk, crying piteously, just as she had almost every morning for the past half year. The new medication didn't work. Despair flooded her. This was it, there was no hope left in her.

"I can't live like this," she whispered. The knowledge brought with it a kind of peace. She knew what she had to do. She got out of bed and walked down the hall, pulled the cord that unfolded the attic steps from the ceiling. She climbed.

Hank Karnowski hurried outside in his robe and slippers to collect the morning paper from the front yard before the automatic sprinklers kicked in. As he started to turn back to the house, movement at the upper corner of his eye drew his attention to the house next door. His eyebrows rose querulously at the sight of Rose balancing on the steeply sloped roof just outside the little attic window she'd crawled through. Her nightgown billowed around her legs and her long hair flew wildly, exposing the burn scars she was normally so careful to keep hidden. Her cheeks were wet with tears, yet the expression she wore could only be described as serene.

"What the hell...?" Hank muttered.

Rose experienced no fear, no doubt. She knew this was the only option left to her. Closing her eyes, she stepped out to the edge of the roof and let herself fall. She made sure to land head-first.

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><p>PRESENT DAY<p>

SOUTH DAKOTA

Nell tossed the finished newspaper onto the pile she mentally labeled DONE and picked up another from the TO READ stack. "Why'm I doing this again?"

"You're looking for leads to the next job," John replied. He was seated in the motel room's faux leather lounger watching an old war movie on TV and drinking a beer. They'd left Bobby's place a couple of days ago, not wanting to impose on him any longer since the job was done. The crusty old Hunter actually seemed sorry to see them go. He even went so far as to give Nell a goodbye hug and promised to keep her posted on how the imps were doing. The way Bobby talked about them made John realize Nell's solution turned out better than they'd hoped. Not only were the gremlins no longer causing mischief, but the normally solitary Bobby was no longer alone with only his memories for company. Granted, imps might not have been his first choice for companions, but they seemed to be getting along with their "Unka Bobby" alright. John smirked and took another swig of his beer.

"Okay, so what counts as a lead?" Nell asked, interrupting his reverie.

"Unusual deaths, unexplained incidents, witness accounts that nobody takes seriously, mentions of local legends," he ticked off each one, "Anything that raises a red flag, basically."

Nell turned a page and frowned at her ink-smeared fingertips. "And why can't I use the Internet?"

John grimaced. "Because the _Internet_," he practically spat the word, "is unreliable. Any wise-ass can post whatever crap that pops into his head and say it's true. Newspapers are done by real reporters, who do real fact-checking and real research."

"Spoken like a man who's never read a supermarket tabloid," Nell remarked drily. She read off a couple of headlines in a bored voice, "'Man Robs Convenience Store In Gorilla Mask', 'Yorkie Thefts On The Rise In Midwest', 'Branson Couple Arrested In Domestic Abuse Case', 'Kansas Woman Commits Suicide.' Man, that's some riveting shit."

John tensed a little on hearing his home State mentioned. "Hey, read me that last one, will ya?"

"About the suicide? Why?"

He shrugged. "Call it a gut feeling."

Nell sighed, "Whatever. Says that this lady, Hannah Oczyk," she struggled with the last name, "stepped out into morning traffic in her pajamas." She scanned the article a little further, then uttered a curious "Huh!"

"What?" John turned around to peer at her over the chair's back.

"Apparently about four months ago anther woman, Rose Pierzynski, took a nosedive off her roof one Sunday morning. And six months before that, a dude named Pete Holsom fixed himself a breakfast of scrambled eggs and arsenic. They all lived in the same town, too. A little burg called Leonora." Nell looked up from the paper and met John's stare. "What d'you think?"

"What do _you_ think?" he countered.

She pursed her lips. "That many suicides in a town that small. Sounds kinda fishy."

John grinned. "Then I guess we're going to Kansas."

He only hoped it didn't prove to be a bad omen.


	17. Night Terror

**A/N:** I know it's been a while since I updated and I'm sorry I left you all hanging. Here's the latest chapter. :-D

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show _Supernatural_ or the character of John Winchester.**

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><p>Imogene Karnowski wasn't a snoop, regardless of what her husband said. She was just made it a point to take note of her surroundings, no matter how trivial, at all times. Which was why she noticed the fairly nondescript pickup truck that pulled up in front of Rose Pierzynski's house right away. Two people stepped out of the vehicle; a twenty-something blonde girl in sunglasses and a handsomely distinguished middle-aged man. The couple approached the Pierzynski house at a casual stroll, looking around them as if appraising the place. They paused at the front door to have a quiet discussion about something. Imogene, who'd been working on her newly planted flowerbeds, made a pretense of trimming the rhododendrons that bordered the neighboring property in order to get closer. Unfortunately, their voices were low enough that the regular <em>snip-snip<em> of her hedge trimmers drowned them out. She finally spoke up when the couple made to climb the porch steps to the door. "If you all are here about the open house, next one's scheduled tomorrow."

Both man and woman turned to look at her, then approached with friendly smiles. Imogene couldn't help but take note of the fact that the man's features were especially pleasant to look at when set in that expression. As if sensing her thoughts, his grin broadened as he and the girl came to a halt on the opposite side of the hedge. "Actually, we didn't know about any open house," he said, putting an arm around the young woman, "My wife and I were just passing through and this neighborhood looked so nice we thought we'd have a look around."

"Then we saw the for sale sign in front of this place and took it as a good omen," the girl added.

"I'm John and this is my wife Nell," the man introduced them.

The slightest quirk of Imogene's eyebrow was her only visible reaction to the couple's obvious age difference, yet she kept her smile friendly as she replied, "Imogene Karnowski. And you couldn't have found a nicer place to settle. This is a lovely town for raising families. Low crime, good schools, a wonderful church."

"We're not much for churchgoing ourselves," Nell stated cheerfully, "Too _boring. _But everything else sounds great! And this house is _sooo_ pretty." She twirled a strand of her long hair around one finger and simpered.

Imogene's smile became a tad more forced. "One of the nicest houses in the neighborhood. It really is a shame... Well, I don't want to bother you with unpleasant details."

John gave her a puzzled look. "What d'you mean? Is there something wrong with the house?"

"Is it rats?" Nell shuddered, "I heard these little country towns sometimes have rat problems."

The sincerity in Imogene's smile dropped even further at the girl's less than tactful remark. "Oh no, the house is perfectly fine. It's what happened to the previous owner, the poor thing." Her expression morphed into something appropriately somber.

"What happened?" John asked, concerned.

"Well, I don't want you to think me the town gossip-"

"No, of course not!" the man denied, "I'm sure you won't tell us anything we wouldn't hear from the realtor."

Imogene smiled warmly. "You're right. And it's better if you hear it from me anyway, since my husband was there when it happened." She leaned over the hedge, lowering her voice to a dramatic murmur, "The reason the house is on the market is because Rose Pierzynski, the last owner, committed suicide a few months ago."

Nell gasped and clutched John's shirt. "Somebody died in the house? Gross!"

"Not _in_ the house," the older woman said with relish, enjoying the bimbo's distress, "She jumped off the roof, early in the morning. Hadn't even changed out of her nightgown. My husband saw the whole thing."

"That's awful!"

"It is," Imogene shook her head sadly, "And so tragic. Everyone had thought she'd managed to put her tragedy behind her, but then she started to get worse again, right out of the blue."

There was a glint of interest in John's eyes at her words. "Tragedy? What do you mean?"

Imogene leaned even closer, eyes wide, eager to relay the tantalizing details. "Five years ago Rose was in a horrible car accident. Her van caught fire and her three-year-old daughter died before she could be rescued. Poor dear. She was in therapy I don't know how long and she seemed to be getting back on her feet, but then all of a sudden she told me she was having nightmares about the accident. She said they were so real she could feel the heat from the fire. And every night it only seemed to get worse. She said it was almost like something _made_ her relive it. She even..." She hesitated.

"What?" Nell asked quietly.

Imogene sighed, shook her head. "Once she mentioned she could feel something else there with her, in her dream. She said she glimpsed a pair of red eyes, just for a second." Genuine sadness filled her expression. Imogene dabbed at her eye with a gloved hand. "I can't help but wonder if I should've encouraged her to have herself committed. I knew how depressed she was, but I never thought she'd actually..."

John placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "There wasn't anything you could've done."

Imogene slowly pulled herself together. She smiled at the now silent couple. "Anyway, it's in the past. The house is still nice enough that it deserves a fresh start. I'm sure if you decide to move here, you'll find it lovely."

"I'm sure we will," John smiled. He and Nell said their farewells, then returned to the truck.

As they drove back to the motel, Nell summed up what they'd gathered so far on their fact-finding. "Rose Pierzynski's story's just like the other two: a huge trauma several years back, seemed to get better, then suddenly got worse."

"Because of the nightmares," John said.

Nell snorted, "More like night _terrors_, way it sounded. And they all mentioned seeing red eyes in their dreams."

"Something triggered their nightmares," John theorized, "Forced them to relive their trauma over and over, driving them into depression and eventual suicide."

"Something alive?" Nell asked, "What could do that?"

John shrugged. "Some kind of vengeful spirit. Incubus, maybe? We'll need to do some research."

Nell gazed out the passenger window, watched the almost picturesque scenery passing by and the occasional person. A jogger crossed paths with a girl walking her Labrador. A group of kids played basketball in someone's driveway. An old woman tottered out of a greenhouse with LEONORA NURSERY stenciled on the side, a box of potted seedlings hugged to her thin chest. Every house they passed sported manicured lawns and lush flowerbeds. People sure loved gardening in Leonora.

"Why do monsters keep showing up in these nice little towns?" the vampire wondered.

John replied, "'Cause nobody ever expects anything bad to happen in nice little towns. Plus, they're out of the way and that makes it easy for them to slip under the radar. Only good thing about this is sooner or later the monster gets overconfident and sloppy, making it easier for Hunters to spot the signs."

"So, they're like serial killers," Nell guessed, "They're real careful at first, then they accelerate and start making mistakes."

"Something like that." John would still rather chase monsters than a serial killer any day. Monsters were predictable, they had unbreakable rules and specific wants and needs, whereas humans were far less predictable and their motivations often could not be fathomed.

They pulled up to their motel and exited the pickup. Even here the landscaping was impeccable. A couple of workers in khaki uniforms were busy planting new flowers in a raised bed. LEONORA NURSERY was stenciled on the side of their van. Apparently, business was booming for the rural gardening store.

As soon as the couple was back in their motel room, Nell let out a huge, jaw-popping yawn and flung herself down onto the queen size bed, one arm draped across her eyes. John smiled and whacked the side of her shoe with the flat of his hand. "C'mon, get up. We still got work to do."

"Gimme a break, dude. I've been awake all last night and most of today. I'm bushed."

"I dunno," he said, "Given the bad memories we both carry, you sure you wanna take the risk of sleeping here?" Though his tone was light, he wasn't really joking. They had no idea how this creature selected its victims or if it already caught wind of the fact that Hunters were onto it.

"All the victims lived alone," Nell mumbled, "I got you watching my back." She rolled onto her side, eyes closed. "Wake me after dark."

John smiled at the sight of her curled up on the bed looking like a little girl. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The corner of her mouth twitched in response. John took off her shoes and set them aside. He then drew the curtains, left all but one lamp switched off, and dug out his journal and various occult books and settled down for a long afternoon of research.

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><p>Nell woke hours later to a dark room; pitch black to a human, but not a problem for her vampiric sight. She turned over and found John lying beside her on the bed, sound asleep. This close, the smell of his blood flooded her nostrils. Her stomach twisted from craving. Time for another pint. She was careful not to wake John as, with a stealth only a supernatural creature could achieve, she rose from the bed, put on her shoes, and left the room in search for her next meal.<p>

John slept on, oblivious to her departure. Outside, a car passed, its headlights penetrating the curtains and casting eerie shadows in the room. They flowed and shifted like living things. Then the car was gone and the room returned to blackness.

John's eyes rolled beneath their lids. His pulse quickened, as did his brain activity to the point that it nearly matched the same level as waking. He had entered into what was sometimes known as paradoxical sleep, more commonly referred to as REM. The moment in sleep when dreams occurred...

_...John was jolted awake in his easy chair by the sound of his wife screaming. He leapt to his feet and ran upstairs. The door to Sammy's nursery was wide open. He entered the room, fearful of what he might find, but all he saw was the crib with his youngest son lying inside, awake yet undisturbed._

Must've imagined it,_ he thought as he drifted over to the crib. Sammy gave him a toothless grin. John smiled and reached down to stroke the baby's soft cheek. Something wet pattered down onto the back of his hand, thick, dark, and warm. John stared at the spot on his hand and felt the dread well up in him. He knew, even before he tilted his head upward. He knew what he would see. Part of him fought it, the part that was still aware that this was a dream. But he couldn't prevent this any more than he could prevent that moment when it really happened all those years ago._

_Mary, her body twisted unnaturally, skin pale, her mouth slack and eyes silently pleading. Blood dripped down from the open wound in her belly onto the cradle below._

_Horrified, John stumbled and fell onto his back. "Mary," he gasped, "Mary, no!"_

_The flames erupted from her and engulfed the ceiling. For a moment she was suspended in the center of a giant, terrible flower, the look in her eyes telling him she was still aware and in unspeakable pain. Then the fire swept over her and she was lost to sight..._

Had she been human, Nell wouldn't have heard the agonized cries from the motel room from the distance she was at. But hear she did, and the sound sent a sliver of fear straight into her gut, curdling the hot blood she'd consumed just moments ago. She ran with such incredible speed she crossed the remaining yards to the room in an instant. She didn't even bother with the key. One powerful kick and the door crashed open. Her eyes widened in horror of what she found inside.

_...John foisted the baby onto his oldest son. "Take your brother outside!" He didn't wait to see if Dean obeyed. He ran back into the burning nursery, heedless of the incredible heat, the way his robe smoked and his hair curled and smoldered. He could still see her, a dark shadow on the ceiling, surrounded by fire. "Mary!"_

_The fire's roar was the only answer he got. He felt the skin of his outstretched palms blister. The roiling smoke caused tears to course down his face and made his lungs scream for air. John didn't acknowledge any of these torments. The pain of watching his wife burn alive eclipsed everything. He tried to reach her, but the heat was like a wall, pushing him back. Even if he could get farther into the room, John had no idea how he might hope to reach his wife on the ceiling. He wasn't thinking. He just knew he had to get to her. He had to._

_"Mary!"_

_There was a loud groan like an elephant's death rattle and the ceiling suddenly collapsed, pushing out a tidal wave of flame towards John. He screamed and ducked, felt hot coals pepper his back and burn through his clothing. He stumbled backwards through the door, fell onto his back in the hallway. He stared at the inferno that was once his youngest child's room and saw only smoke and orange-yellow flame._

_And for the briefest instant, two red embers blazed, brighter than the fire itself, gone so quickly they might have been an illusion._

_John screamed his wife's name again and again, knowing it was too late. She was gone. He'd failed..._

Blackness. That was all Nell could see of it; a black shadow that crouched on John's chest. Two appendages like arms extended to either side of his head, and the faceless thing leaned towards him as if to give him a kiss. John's eyes were tightly shut. He twitched and cried out, and each time his voice rose the shadow-thing shuddered in pleasure.

Nell's horror gave way to an all-encompassing rage. Her vision literally turned red as the instinct to protect her mate blotted out all other thoughts. A sound no human could possibly duplicate erupted from her throat and she charged into the room. The shadow-thing's head turned and it gazed at her with glowing red eyes. Nell leaped across the room to tackle the intruder, but her body passed through it like it was nothing but smoke and she crashed into the opposite wall, knocking down a painting and toppling and end table where John had several hand-held weapons laid out. Nell's eyes were drawn to a huge bowie knife—the same knife John had used to attack her, once upon a time—and she snatched it up and came at the shadow-thing again. She swung the blade in a wide arc, slicing through the middle of the smoky mass. She felt a small amount of resistance as the knife passed through the insubstantial creature. This time, there was a reaction. The shadow-thing recoiled and a piercing screech threatened to rupture Nell's eardrums. She swung the knife again, but the monster dodged, then abruptly vanished altogether. John woke with a gasp, sat up and scrambled back until his shoulders hit the headboard. His eyes were wide, his face tear-stained.

"John?" Nell dropped the bowie knife and hurried over to him. She knelt on the bed, cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. For a second he didn't seem to see her at all, then his eyes slowly focused. He grabbed her shoulders with bruising force.

"Mary," he whispered hoarsely.

Nell felt tears well up in her eyes. She nodded in understanding. "That thing we're after, whatever the fuck it was, it attacked you. It made you dream-"

"It wasn't a dream," he whispered fiercely, squeezing her shoulders even harder, "It happened. I lived through it all over again. I couldn't stop it. I knew what whas gonna happen, but I couldn't..." a sob escaped him, "I couldn't save her."

Hate and guilt rose up in her. Hatred for the monster that had reached into John's soul and cut open his old scars, and guilt for not being there to prevent it. She pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry."

John clung to her, his tears soaking through her shirt. After a few minutes his trembling subsided and he drew back to meet her gaze. Though tears still fell from his eyes, his expression was more controlled. He knew now what those other victims had experienced and this made him more determined than ever to exterminate this thing. "This fucker's going to pay for what it's done."

Nell nodded. "You won't get any argument from me."


End file.
